


The Hunter's Dilemma

by Rangersyl, Taiamu



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Angst, F/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-07
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rangersyl/pseuds/Rangersyl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taiamu/pseuds/Taiamu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despondent over Sydney's death, Jack and Irina separately blaze a trail of vengeance across the globe. Set in the gap between Seasons 2 and 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some time ago, taiamu and I started this fic, without really realizing how big it would end up getting! We watched Alias, and wrote, got discouraged by the show, but kept on writing anyway.
> 
> This is firmly in AU (or Alternate Canon) territory, J/I centric, and yet another take on what actually happened after the end of season 2 Alias.
> 
> Dedicated to fic readers and fans who like both Jack and Irina, and would like to spend more time in their company.

The Hunter's Dilemma

Yauyos, Peru  
Chemical Plant

The late evening mist was both a blessing and a curse. It shrouded Jack from prying eyes as he approached the compound's perimeter defenses; but it also obscured his view of the sentries above. He hefted himself onto the roof of an outbuilding and adjusted his night vision goggles. Shadowy green shapes moved back and forth between the chemical drums and other equipment strewn haphazardly around the yard.

Without warning, a searchlight blazed into operation, loud voices shouted in Spanish, and gunshots broke out at the main gate. Jack cursed silently as his goggles captured the high-intensity beam and transformed it into a cornea-burning supernova. Temporarily blinded, he ripped off his goggles and slid to the ground, taking cover until his vision cleared. He stood there for several moments, blinking and adjusting to the darkness. 

The gunfire at the gate increased in tempo, and he heard engines roaring to life and tires screeching as they peeled out of the compound -- searching for an intruder, he assumed.

Had he somehow set off the alarm?

As he weighed his options, he heard the soft crunch of approaching footfalls behind him. He froze; relying on camouflage and stealth for protection. Every nerve tingling, every muscle taut, Jack analyzed the sounds, gauging their source (small, well-trained individual) and distance (getting closer). He remained stock still until they were scant feet away from him -- just within reach. 

He spun around and grabbed the intruder's jacket, trapping him against the wall of the shed. But he stopped in mid-punch, his fist wavering in the air, waiting. His vision was still obscured by the earlier glare, but the outline of this ... person... was familiar. "You," he seethed. "What are you doing here?"

His wife. His nemesis. A jolt ran down his spine, the now-familiar frisson of wanting her, but wishing her exorcised from his life at the same time. He didn't question the absurdity of crossing paths with her in the middle of his -- and apparently her -- rogue operation in the Peruvian jungle. Absurd, yes. But not surprising.

Irina Derevko stood motionless, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was physically threatening her. Was it his imagination, or did she shiver slightly? A trick of the light, Jack thought.

After a long moment she blinked and focused on his face. Her features were inscrutable, as always. "I could ask the same of you," she countered. "I--" 

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by a muffled boom in the plant beneath them. Irina threw herself on top of him, taking them both to the pavement -- hard. When he struggled to get up, she slammed him down again. "Wait!" she hissed.

Seconds later, the ground shuddered again as a second explosive went off. This one was closer than the first. Irina raised her head slightly. An orange glow lit the night, and Jack could see the smile that curved her lips as she watched the main building's east wing go up in flames.

"That should keep them busy, don't you think?" Irina's breath along the side of his cheek highlighted the intimacy of the moment - an unwanted intimacy. Jack was relieved when she shifted and rose to her feet. Seemingly unaware of his discomfort, she turned and offered Jack a hand to help him up.

Jack's eyes narrowed as he considered the woman above him. "Keep them busy," he said acerbically, "Yes, it alerts them to the intrusion." He stood on his own, ignoring her proffered hand. "And what is your role in all this?"

"Rambaldi." she said shortly. "Look, Jack." She continued. "I'm sure I'm the last person you wanted to see here. So, why don't we just agree to stay out of each others way?"

"That depends on where Sloane is," Jack ground out.

"I have no idea." She snapped. 

"You don't? Pity. Assuming, then that you aren't going to detain me, I'm proceeding to my objective."

"Fine." Irina turned and picked up her pack, slinging it over her shoulders. "I'd stay away from the south side of the compound if I were you." With that, she began climbing the access ladder to the catwalk. 

Jack watched her stalk away. In another lifetime, he may have pursued her, identified her objective. Countered her power play, neutralized or captured her. But his daughter was dead, and all considerations beyond avenging her he deemed... trivial. 

And there was no other long-term strategy he cared to devise.

He watched her disappear into the night, and with effort, shook off the emotional jolt of seeing the mother of his child; and willed himself to fix on the objective. Training took over, and he donned his night-vision goggles and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. Soon he was maneuvering around the pipelines and heavy equipment that made up the factory yard; a pale shadow in the sodium lights above.

Jack was forced to admit that whatever Irina had done - and for whatever reason - was effective for his purposes as well. Most of the guards had either gone out on a fruitless patrol or continued to monitor the landscape outside the walls. 

His objective was a squat, white-washed concrete bunker in the center of the yard housed the control room and other facilities. It had only one entrance, and two sentries stood outside, nervously grasping their AK-47s. A video camera slowly panned left to right above them. 

Jack huddled behind a rusting holding tank. He tossed a smoke grenade at the feet of a guard, and took advantage of the two seconds of confusion to squeeze four rounds from his silenced Glock. The guards crumpled. By the time the cameras swerved back to his position, he was inside the building.

The next camera was at a 'T' intersection fifty feet down the hall. Jack shot out the lights above him and continued, unerringly, to the control room. The reinforced steel door was locked; impenetrable except for the motor that operated it from the inside. He tore off his goggles and traded his Glock for a submachine gun and flash grenade. Taking up a position off-center to the doorway, he waited. 

Predictably, the confusion with the cameras drew out the guards. Jack rolled the grenade along the floor into the main room, and mowed down the men in the doorway. The grenade ignited, filling the control center with smoke and temporarily stunning the men inside. 

Someone retained the presence of mind to engage the closing mechanism for the vault-like door. Jack charged through the narrowing gap, shooting the guard. At the control panel, Jack switched the door into reverse and it swung fully out on its hinges, crushing a defender behind it. 

The smoke from the grenade obscured Jack's vision as well, so he fired blindly into the room. Some shots struck their targets, and others sparked against the consoles ringing the room. The answering fire gradually slowed, and then halted, and the smoke began to clear. Jack slammed the main door shut and secured it, preventing anyone else from entering.

He reloaded his Glock and methodically checked the room, sinking one well-placed bullet into each of the casualties to ensure that he would not be ambushed. Satisfied the control room was cleared of guards and the doors sealed, Jack took advantage of the momentary reprieve. He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead and take a few deep breaths.

Reaching into his rucksack, he pulled out the datatriever he had borrowed from Marshall and placed it on top of the main server. A few keystrokes later, he had insinuated himself into the network and was in the process of a total data dump into the device. The blue bar on the screen indicated he had four minutes to go.

Leaving that for the time being, he jogged to the main security station in the control room and began working the controls for the hundred cameras situated throughout the plant. He rapidly flipped through the series of cameras -- the several blank screens indicated stations damaged by Irina's explosions or his own efforts. Most of the guards, it seemed, had been persuaded to embark on the wild goose chase Irina had begun. 

He had to give credit where credit was due. Regardless of her megalomaniacal motivations.

Click...click... there. He stopped scrolling and saw Irina herself taking out two guards with a burst of machine gun fire. He checked the video feed display. It read in Spanish, "Crystalline Fabrication". He recalled that she was seeking a Rambaldi item. She had seen fit to tell the truth about that, at least. He couldn't help the knot in his stomach at the thought that she was still pursuing the false prophet even as Sydney -- no, he wouldn't think about that. He skipped past the grainy picture of Irina and back to the single remaining camera at the front gate.

He checked the datatrieve upload. Three minutes.

Without understanding why, Jack switched back to the camera that showed Irina. He squinted at the scene before him. What was she doing? He adjusted the zoom lens and watched as she worked on opening a clean room door with some kind of electronic locking device. The blurry video showed her shooting out a control panel, and immediately a warning buzzer sounded at another console in the room. Jack stepped over to it and noticed a pressure and temperature drop in Irina's lab.

She gained entrance, and Jack used the next camera in sequence to follow her in. Fascinated, he took in the scene – at least fifty banks of glass cylinders, half full of bubbling liquid. A growing crystal was suspended in each cylinder. Irina moved quickly through the forest of glass, and Jack concluded she was setting explosive charges around the lab. 

Were these crystals linked to Rambaldi? And did Irina Derevko intend to destroy them? He dismissed the idea, but conceded there were few other scenarios that would fit the facts.

Keeping one monitor on Irina, he continued to screen for hostile activity in his immediate vicinity. Click...click... Guards. He stopped the second monitor and saw a platoon of guards re-enter the main gate. Radio communications indicated they were headed towards the fabrication facility. Jack frowned. 

Thirty seconds to go. The guards moved closer, and Irina continued her work, oblivious to the imminent danger. Twenty seconds until his download was complete. He silently urged her to hurry, the guards to change course. Ten seconds. 

The download was complete. Jack rapidly disengaged the device and ran out of the control room. He followed the perimeter of the outbuildings and slipped into the fabrication facility. His heavy footfalls echoed in the empty corridor. Finding the lab, he rapped on the door with the butt of his rifle several times; in Morse code "Irina".

Suddenly, the door jerked open, and the muzzle of a gun was shoved in his face. 

"Jack!" Irina swore softly in Russian. "What the hell is going on?" She stepped back to let him inside the room.

"You need to leave," Jack said as he shut the door behind him and slid the locks into place. "There's a troop of guards coming this way. Leave them," he indicated the rows of cylindrical tanks. "And get out of here while you can."

Irina shook her head. "I can't." She moved to a wall panel and shot through the casing. Prying the remaining bits of metal free, she sliced through the delicate wiring inside. After a moment, a section of the grid surrounding the room flickered and died. There was the hiss of pressure being released, and the liquid inside the tubes stopped bubbling. A moment later, the lights in the room flickered, to be replaced by the glow of emergency lights. "Damn. They have a generator," Irina murmured.

"It's not worth it Irina," Jack said warningly.

"It is. You don't understand." She brushed past him and headed toward the now defunct section of the security system. 

Jack reloaded his weapons as Irina rifled through her pack and pulled out one last charge. Slipping past the active sections of the grid, she planted the explosive next to the largest vat of liquid. 

Irina backed off. The sound of pounding feet echoed in the corridor. " _Now_ we can go." she said. 

"Right," Jack agreed. He unslung his gun and stood at the door, checking over his shoulder that she was behind him. "Go left," Jack said quickly. "I'll cover the rear." He unlocked the door and swung it open, then jumped into the corridor, firing at a rapid pace. Two guards went down instantly, the others ducked for cover.

He heard Irina behind him, charging down the corridor, the popping of her AK-47 echoing in the hall. Jack walked backwards, gun trained at the guards, shooting slowly but steadily to keep them pinned down. They kept their heads low, chastened by the downing of several of their comrades. 

They turned a corner, and Jack heard Irina's footfalls speed up. In response, he turned and kept pace with her. They sprinted down another corridor, but stopped cold as a guard blocked their way and peppered the hall with fire. They dove for cover, and Jack felt the sting of hot air as a bullet whizzed past his cheek. Irina stepped out from behind him and levelled her gun at the shooter. She pressed the trigger and the muzzle spat fire, riddling the man with bullets.

The guard fell, and Irina sprinted past him to the end of the hall, Jack following her. "This way!" she said, slamming her weight into the stairwell door.

Jack followed Irina into the stairwell, and the hollow echoes of their rapid footsteps rang in his ears. They flew down one flight. Suddenly, voices and gunfire erupted below them. They both pressed themselves against the wall, attempting to find cover from the gunshots and ricochets that bounced in the small space.

Irina swore and fired a blind round in the direction of their assailants. A faint scream echoed up toward them, yet the bullets still kept coming. "We're pinned down in here!" Irina hissed. She ran out of ammunition and dropped her rifle, pulling her Tokarev free of its holster.

Jack took a moment to note her sentimental choice of sidearm as he pointed his Uzi up towards the door. The guards from the upper floor were advancing. The spray of shots through the aluminum apparently caused their pursuers to re-evaluate the wisdom of entering the stairwell. With his right hand, Jack unhooked a grenade from his utility belt and bit off the pin. He caught Irina's eye as he counted to three before dropping it. It clattered and landed at the foot of the stairs.

Irina threw herself against Jack and they both hit the wall, ducking their heads as the grenade exploded with a concussive blast that threatened to collapse the rickety stairs.

"Now!" Jack called out before the dust could settle. Bits of concrete and plaster rained down on them as they charged down the stairs. They raced off the stairwell and made a beeline for the exit. The sign glowed eerily in the semi-dark of the emergency lights. 

Jack saw Irina check her watch. She called out, "Ten seconds," and Jack immediately understood her meaning. The detonation was timed. They picked up their pace with new urgency and sprinted towards the main door, their boots skidding on the slick floor.

Irina's hand was on the door when the charges blew. They both half-stumbled into the main yard, the force of the explosion throwing them from the building. Behind them, the building trembled and the roof caved in, swallowing any remaining pursuers. Regaining their balance, Irina and Jack sprinted towards the main gate. The guards fired blindly into the night, and bullets bounced off of every imaginable surface. Heedless of cover, they put their trust in the huge distraction of the explosion and relied on speed to escape. 

But as they exited the compound, a burst of fire came from the guardhouse. Jack raised his gun to counter it, and felt a hot stab through his thigh. He stumbled and leaned against the concrete wall before razing the guards with the last rounds of ammunition he had.

Not wanting the adrenaline to wear off, he pulled himself together and followed Irina out onto the fields that surrounded the compound. 

They sprinted across the field, but Jack began to fall behind, his leg barely functional. Sheer willpower held him upright. He was determined not to be at Irina's mercy. But in the end it wasn't enough. As they descended the crest of a hill, his leg finally collapsed. He hit the ground with a grunt, and spat the dirt out of his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

Irina saw Jack stumble and fall. She was at his side in an instant. Crouching down, she saw a dark stain rapidly spreading across his trouser leg. "You're wounded? Dammit, Jack! When were you going to tell me?"

She looked into his face and saw him grimace in pain. When his eyes met hers, the emotion was immediately stifled and he glared up at her defiantly.

There was a shout, and the searchlights flickered in their direction. "We've got to move," she urged him. "I've got a Rover parked just beyond that hill. Can you make it?"

He struggled to his knees, then to his feet. "I'll make it," he grunted. He took a step, and shivered as his weight bore down on his injured leg. Irina winced in sympathy. She was just about to assist him when he took another step, and started haltingly down the hill.

An admirable attempt, but he was too slow. Ignoring his protests, she stepped up to his side and drew his arm around her shoulder. She felt him stiffen immediately. Irina growled in frustration and fought the urge to hit him.

"Come on, Jack. Stop being so damn stubborn." She took a step forward. Jack still held his body completely rigid, though he didn't fight her. Irina sighed, and the sound was more like a hiss.

"Relax. Look, either you trust me, or you don't," She pressed him. "But if we don't get moving right now, we're both going to die in this mudhole. Is that what you want?"

"Just move," Jack gritted between his teeth. Irina led him across the field as quickly as she dared, not wanting him to pitch forward and fall. Sporadic gunfire could still be heard behind them, and spotlights criss-crossed the ground, but never targeted their location. The hill was difficult; the vegetation was thick and the ground uneven. More than once they had to stop so Jack could gather his strength for another climb.

At last they crested the hill, and Irina saw the dark hulk of her vehicle, parked in a ravine below them. She and Jack stumbled and slid down the grassy slope. Irina winced as Jack nearly fell, forcing her to jerk him upright quickly, lest they both go down together. She heard him gasp. "We're almost there," she said.

They made it to her battered but sturdy Rover. As she helped Jack into the passenger side, Irina wished she'd had the foresight to pack a first aid kit. *But then, I wasn't exactly prepared for an escape for two*, she thought grimly. Irina slid into the driver's side and glanced over at Jack. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilted back. She frowned, hoping that the leg wound was the extent of his injuries.

Gunshots rang out, reminding her that their pursuers hadn't given up. Irina gunned the engine and slammed the car into drive. She maneuvered them down a gully, slipping and sliding through a muddy creekbed until finally climbing the embankment and rolling onto a narrow dirt road.

Time passed, the scenery whipped by them as Irina tore past farmhouses and tiny settlements at breakneck speed. She took her eyes off the road for a moment, glancing in Jack's direction. He was slumped in the passenger seat, his head lolling to the side. She frowned. "Jack!" The Rover hit a pothole and she winced as his body jerked. And still he remained silent.

"Jack. Can you hear me?" No response. _Damn_. Irina spun the wheel to the left, abandoning the road for a patch of nearby undergrowth. She slammed on the brakes, and the Rover skidded to a stop.

"Irina?" Jack asked quizzically. He swallowed dryly and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I think I need some help," he slurred.

*You need more than that* Irina thought, but said nothing. She leaned over him, noting the blood pooling under his thigh. Why the hell hadn't he said anything? This wasn't a flesh wound--it was death. Irina noticed he had retained the presence of mind to attempt his own tourniquet – his belt lay over his thigh. She pulled the blood-slicked leather from his weakened, trembling hands, surprised her own weren't shaking. "Jack, I've got to stop the bleeding...." _So much blood. On the seat...staining his clothes_. "You have to lift your leg. Lift it!"

She slid the belt under his thigh and secured it above the wound, tight. He gasped. 

She saw his eyelids flicker, then slide shut again. "Dammit, Jack! Stay awake. Look at me!" She gave the ends of the tourniquet a final tug, and he flinched.

"Here," Jack responded. "I'm here." His eyes opened and he regarded her. "Call Carmelita," he instructed.

Her eyebrows shot up. Carmelita? But she didn't have time to consider the odd request. Instead, she said: "Where's your phone?"

His brows knitted together. "My bag," he said thickly. "No... it's here, or in the bag. She's a doctor."

"All right." Irina kept her voice low, and matter-of-fact. She reached into the Rover's back seat and rifled around in his gear until she found a small, black cell phone the size of her palm.

She turned back to Jack. His eyes had slid shut again. She nudged him. "Jack." She snapped. "Stay with me." She raised her hand so he could see the phone. "Tell me how to contact Carmelita."

"Call her," Jack supplied. "Number's in there. Borges. Tell her I said hello. Nice lady."

Irina nodded. Quickly, she hit the speed dial and put the phone to her ear. She waited as the call rang through, not at all sure what to expect. She kept an eye on Jack. The bleeding had slowed, but it had not stopped. She bit her lip. This 'Carmelita' had better know what she was doing.

A voice came over the line and spoke in Spanish. "Hallo Juan? You call twice in one week, I'm hoping you're not in trouble again," the woman's voice said.

"This isn't Juan." Irina replied. "But he is in trouble. You're a doctor?" She asked tersely. She had no idea who this woman was. Jack seemed to trust her. It was all she had to go on at the moment. She hoped it was enough.

"Si," the woman replied crisply. "And who are you and why do you speak for Juan?"

"A friend. Jack's been injured. He's dying." The words were harsh. Her own voice seemed distant, and cold. "I don't have time for this. Are you going to help, or not?"

"Si, si. But I am in El Tigerito. Can you come?"

Irina did a couple of quick calculations. The town wasn't far, however, given the nonexistent road system it may as well have been fifty miles. But it was as good as she was going to get. She glanced over to Jack, gauging how much time he might have before the blood loss became critical. Irreversible.

"Give me twenty-five minutes." Irina cut the connection without ceremony and put the car back in gear. Jack moaned, and Irina's hands tightened on the wheel. "Focus," she commanded. "What is the square root of 94?"

"Nine," Jack bit out. "Point six nine... five."

She nodded sharply, and the tightness eased in her chest. She took a deep breath and continued to pepper him with mathematics questions as she sped them towards El Tigerito.

They arrived in the hours before dawn. Irina slowed the Rover, scanning the street for the address Carmelita had given her.

"Carmelita Borges, MD" graced a battered shingle on small storefront in the center of town. Irina eyed the place uneasily. The street was deserted, as one might expect at four in the morning in a tiny Peruvian town. But she knew instinctively that their pursuers wouldn't simply give up. They had resources all through this province, and probably beyond. Between herself and Jack, they had done enough damage to the chemical plant that night to be made examples of. It's what she would have done in their place.

She wouldn't allow them to succeed.

Irina knew she couldn't risk taking Jack through the front door. It was too exposed, and small towns were notoriously difficult to hide in. She drove past the store and circled around it, finally backing the Rover between a small shed and a large shade tree.

Jumping out of the car, she strode to the passenger side and began the laborious process of getting Jack out of the car. He was barely conscious now. She struggled to get him to his feet, slinging one arm over her shoulders in an attempt to lever him out of the car. His body was like a dead weight in her arms.

"No, no, use this," A nearby voice urged in Spanish. When Irina turned she saw a diminutive woman, barely five feet tall, and in her seventies at least. Her long grey hair was tied back in a braid, and her small, round glasses were very thick. She steered a wheelchair along the cobblestones and brought it to Irina's side. "Slide him on this," she insisted. "He's an ox, we can't carry him."

Irina nodded her thanks, and the two of them managed to get Jack in the chair. As they wheeled him through the back door, Irina said: "He's been hurt badly. I did the best I could, but he needs more than field medicine." Her tone was flat.

She told the woman the basics, but skated over the circumstances that led up to the injury. Carmelita was an unknown quantity; Jack seemed to trust her, yet Irina couldn't afford to do the same. Not yet.

They hurried down the narrow corridor and emerged into a small surgery with medical equipment that ranged from rudimentary to fairly advanced. "Let's slide him onto the table," The woman instructed. It took both of them to tilt the chair and drag him up. When he was reasonably situated, Carmelita asked, "You can help me, yes? I see you don't faint at blood. Can you set an IV?" She donned a lab coat and picked up a pair of large scissors and began attacking Jack's pantleg to expose the wound.

Irina nodded. Carmelita, in preparation for their arrival, had laid out an array of medicines and equipment. Irina began working, setting up a saline drip that was laid out and ready for them. Irina adjusted the tubing and slid the needle into the vein at the juncture of Jack's forearm and elbow. *He'll have a hell of a bruise in a few days* she thought. Still, it got the job done.

"Good, good," Carmelita muttered as she explored the wound. She made a tsk-ing sound several times. "Too much blood. However, the femoral artery is undamaged." Looking up to Irina, she gave her a series of instructions, as if she were a surgical nurse. All the while the doctor's wizened fingers efficiently cleaned and repaired Jack's thigh.

"Gracias, Senora," the doctor said as she finished with the last stitch and then stripped off her gloves. "He will be all right, do not worry," she added with a smile. "As I said, he's an ox. I call him Juan el Toro. A very sore toro tomorrow though."

Irina laughed, surprising them both. 'Si, Senora. Es un toro muy obstinado!" She shook her head. Glancing at Jack's prostrate figure, she allowed a small smile to tug at her lips.

Carmelita laughed, "Yes, but I take care not to tell him he's stubborn. Or he will glare at me." She eyed the digital heart monitor, and nodded, pleased with the results. "Too big to move to a bed, so we'll put some blankets on him until he wakes up and can move himself."

"How long will he be out, do you think?"

"Some hours I hope," the doctor replied. "Longer is better for him." She reached out and smoothed Jack's hair from his forehead in a curiously maternal gesture. You two are in danger, no?"

Irina tensed and fell silent. With the threat of death temporarily averted, Irina's suspicious nature reasserted itself. 

"Do not worry," Carmelita replied breezily as she pulled several woollen blankets from a cabinet. "I do not ask Juan too many things, and I won't ask you. But perhaps your name? So I may ask you to breakfast and coffee?"

Irina released a breath. "My name is Laura." It wasn't the truth--but it was _a_ truth, the only one she could give at the moment.

"Laura." Irina felt the older woman's keen gaze. She lifted her chin and met Carmelita's eyes without flinching. "Well then Laura," Carmelita handed her a blanket. "Let us tuck in our bull and then look to breakfast."

They worked in silence, folding the blankets around Jack as he slept. Irina followed Carmelita down a hall into her cramped kitchen and watched as she put a pot of coffee on to boil.

Irina leaned against the edge of the counter and viewed Carmelita speculatively. The woman had a quickness to her movements that belied her age. _A sharp mind, as well._ She thought. Carmelita hadn't wasted time asking unnecessary questions, something Irina was grateful for. The very fact that Carmelita hadn't questioned her meant that emergency visits Jack weren't all that uncommon.

"How long have you known Jack, Senora?" Irina asked casually. She moved toward the cabinets and located two coffee cups, setting them on the counter.

Carmelita began preparing a simple breakfast, humming to herself as she worked. "I have known Juan many years. He saved my son from the Shining Path; he is now very successful in business in Lima. And I see Juan from time to time, and sometimes sew him up. He is a good man."

Irina ran a finger along the rim of her coffee cup. "Yes, a very good man," she agreed.

Carmelita placed a plate in front of Irina full of eggs, tortillas and fruit and poured her a cup of strong coffee. "When the shops open I shall go into town and see if anyone is looking for you."

"Gracias, Senora." Irina hadn't realized how hungry she truly was until the food was placed in front of her. She dug into her eggs with relish. "This is very good," she commented.

"I think you are hungry enough to eat anything, Senora," Carmelita said with a lilting laugh. "But thank you for enjoying my humble meal."

Irina gave a slight nod. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Carmelita smiled and picked up her own fork and they enjoyed a companionable silence during the meal. Soon, Irina had finished her breakfast and Carmelita was on her feet beside her. "Would you like more, Senora? Coffee?"

"No, thank you. I think I should go move the car. And then, if you wouldn't mind, to take a shower."

"Of course, of course my friend. You are tired, I can see. And not just from danger, but from worry."

A smile flashed briefly over Irina's face.

Excusing herself, Irina went to park the Rover in Carmelita's garage. She wondered again at the doctor's willingness to help. Whatever debt Carmelita felt existed between herself and Jack had to have expired long ago. Yet, it was obvious that Jack trusted her, and Irina sensed no duplicity in her.

How much had Jack told her about himself, about what he did? The doctor didn't seem to know any details, but she had first hand knowledge that his work was dangerous. Irina shook her head. Well, whatever she suspected, it was clear that Jack hadn't told Carmelita about her. There had been no recognition in the woman's eyes at the name Laura.

Irina returned to the clinic, carrying her travel pack. "If you could point me to the bathroom."

"Si, si," Carmelita said. "Follow me." She walked Irina up a steep flight of stairs to the living quarters above her practice. "Please, use this. And there is a bed if you wish to sleep."

"Thank you." Irina responded. The room was small, and quaint. It had a rustic charm that Irina found appealing. There was no shower, only a bathtub. The handles squeaked as she turned on the faucet.

Shedding her torn black garments, Irina stepped into the hot water, hissing as the liquid met abraded flesh. Quickly, she washed away the night's accumulated grime and blood *Not mine, a tiny voice whispered*, noticing an ugly blue black bruise forming on her calf.

A few minutes later, she stepped out of the tub and moved into the adjoining bedroom. The room was modest, with a small twin bed in the center, and an old wooden dresser in the corner. Clean, fresh air blew in from the open window to her left, and the curtains billowed with the breeze.

Irina felt her muscles twinge as she sat down on the bed, the ache merely a prelude to later stiffness. She ignored it. Rifling around in her bag, she pulled out a a pair of jeans and a light blue t-shirt. Donning them quickly, Irina turned her attention to the set of binoculars she'd brought with her. 

Earlier, she had seen a staircase leading up to the roof. An excellent vantage point, she thought. Both she and Jack were moderately safe, but it would be foolish to believe their haphazard escape had gone unnoticed.

She gave the binoculars the once over, checking for any damage. Satisfied, Irina slung the strap around her neck and headed for the roof.


	3. Chapter 3

Carmelita sat beside her patient, her nimble fingers knitting a coarse woollen blanket. The grey of dawn crept across the sky, and the old woman put down her knitting and checked on Jack She noted with satisfaction that he was resting comfortably. The heart monitor beeped steadily and all the equipment was in place. As she moved about the room cleaning and organizing, she heard him moan softly.

Carmelita washed her hands and stood at the head of his bed. "Juan? Juan el Toro," she said gently as she laid a hand on his forehead.

"Irina?"

"No, no she is not here. It's Carmelita. You had Laura call me and bring you here."

"Laura?" Bleary eyes snapped into focus. "Laura's not here," he said in a chilling whisper.

"She is on the roof, keeping watch," Carmelita said, wary of what seemed to be a brewing storm.

"The hell she is," Jack said bitterly.

"Juan," Carmelita said forcefully. "Juan. You are not to argue, or grow angry or rage and stomp and swear. The woman upstairs saved your life. I will allow you to argue with her when you are well. Right now you must rest."

"Can't...rest," Jack insisted. He moved to get up, but groaned and fell back on the table. 

"You will rest," the doctor insisted. "And I will give you morphine so that you will sleep past next week if you do not lie down."

Jack swallowed and reluctantly nodded. "Tell me... she brought me here?"

"Si."

"She's not to be trusted."

"She can be trusted with the most important things, Juan," Carmelita leaned close to him and held his gaze. "Your life was in her hands. She worried for you, I have seen it many times in the eyes of loved ones. I know the look."

"It was a lie."

"No! I may be an old woman, but I have seen many things. You may trust her with your life, Juan. She is a panther, fierce to protect." She placed her hand on his shoulder, urging him to lie back down. "You do not believe me, but think on it and consider the old woman's ramblings. You will find I am right."

Jack looked up at her. "I'm too tired to argue, Tia. Can you do something for me?"

"Si."

Jack frowned in deep thought. Carmelita knew that his memories had been jumbled in the shock of his injury. "I have a bag. There's a small box inside, a black box the size of your fist, with some lights and three switches. Can you bring it to me? Keep it safe, yes even from Irina. Or Laura, whatever she calls herself now. You may trust her with my life," he added. "But that box is more important than my life."

"Your priorities, Juan, are strange to me as always, but si, I will do this for you just as you ask. And now will you sleep?"

"Thank you, yes. I'll go back to sleep."

Carmelita laid a gentle hand across his eyes and adjusted the morphine drip. In a minute, he had fallen asleep again. The old woman sighed and left the room to do as he asked.

++++++++++++++

Pain greeted Jack with the morning. His leg burned and throbbed, and his mouth was dry. But pain was a good sign; it meant he was still alive. He prised his eyes open, blinking in the late-morning sunlight. He immediately focused on Irina, sitting in a chair by the bed, intently reading a worn copy of a tourist magazine.

He was surprised she was still here. She could have easily left at any point last night. Her actions were not significant, he reminded himself. Irina had her own reasons for everything she did, and was capable of any type of behavior as long as it furthered her own purposes. And she didn't share her agenda with anyone.

He bitterly recalled the Panamanian fiasco some months earlier. He had expected her to betray him, but dared hope that she wouldn't. Hope was no longer an emotion in his repertoire. 

Irina put aside her magazine and eyed him critically. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Jack said flatly.

As he half-expected, Irina ignored the implicit demand for privacy in his tone and began unwrapping his bandages. Knowing that she wouldn't be deterred from examining his wound, he steeled himself for her probing. Her fingers were surprisingly gentle, and he released the breath he had been holding.

Unwilling to look at her, he stared at the ceiling and considered his options. Asking her intentions was futile, but Jack opted for it regardless. If nothing else, her evasion should prove instructive. 

"You're still here."

"You thought I wouldn't be." She paused to look him in the eye. "I'm not your enemy, Jack," she said.

"Fascinating," Jack said in clipped, precise tones normally reserved for reciting geometry proofs. "You're right, an enemy would have killed me on sight; a neutral adversary would have let me die. You did neither. What are you then? An opportunist. You need me for something, but you won't tell me why, preferring, no doubt, to manipulate me in some fashion. But you know what? I don't care anymore. There is nothing that you or anyone else can do that could make matters worse."

Irina frowned, her eyes narrowing. "That's what this comes down to? /You're/ hurting? I see. How convenient," she said dryly. "I'm sure Sydney would love to know that you're using her death as an excuse to give up."

Jack's eyes flashed with anger, "Don't." He bit off his words. "Don't presume to know what I am planning."

"And don't assume you know what I'm feeling!"

Jack closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "Then why are you here?"

"You needed my help," she said simply.

Jack paused, momentarily disarmed by her candor. "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. What were you doing at that compound? Besides trying your best to get yourself killed?"

"Obtaining intel. Did you destroy a Rambaldi artifact?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Sydney." Her voice tripped over her daughter's name. "Her death is a result of Sloane's obsession. I told you once that I...lost myself in Rambaldi. Now, I wish to God I hadn't heard of him." She sucked in a breath. "Arvin loves the Rambaldi myth more than anything. More even then Emily, I think. It's the only thing I can take from him that he still gives a damn about." 

Jack inhaled deeply, and asked hoarsely, "You can connect Sloane, definitively, to Sydney's murder?"

"Not definitively, no. I do have my suspicions, though."

"Which are?" Jack prompted. Here they were, coolly discussing Sydney's death. He had spoken about it with so few people, and even those conversations were cut to monosyllables. But now, speaking to Irina about Sydney brought it all home with a finality he had not allowed himself to accept.

Irina returned to her chair. Closing her eyes briefly to gather her thoughts, she said, "When I escaped CIA custody, I learned Sark had made a back-door deal with Sloane. This deal included the placement of an operative within our daughter's home."

Jack's lips pressed into a thin line. "So Sloane and Sark placed Francie's murderer. Sydney's murderer?"

"I believe so, yes." Her tone was hard.

Jack let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And your current arrangement with Sloane?"

"Finished."

"Glad to hear it," Jack said bitterly. He waited, but she did not respond. "And your current scheme is...?"

"Does it matter? Sloane will be dead soon. Beyond that, who knows?" Irina sounded weary.

"You're going to kill him?"

"Of course."

"Not if I get there first."

Irina's information further cemented Sloane's guilt in Jack's eyes. He did not require reasonable doubt to condemn the man who had once been his best friend. Jack knew Arvin's patterns better than anyone alive. Sydney's death was merely the cumulation of Arvin's madness; and he would never forgive himself for not neutralizing Sloane long ago, before the worst damage could be done.

Jack had circled the globe a dozen times in the last six months, tracking every hint, every rumor, of Sloane. It had finally led him to this tiny corner of Peru, to the data stored in the plant's computer. And to Irina. 

She raised an eyebrow. "You're not going anywhere in your current condition."

"Not now." Jack stared up at the ceiling, chafing at his own infirmity. Inactivity was maddening; it lead to introspection, and he did not care to examine himself or his life in any detail. Constant motion and his drive for vengeance were the only things holding him together. "Soon."

"No." The word was harsh, dropping between them like a stone. "I won't let you take this away from me. It's the only thing I can do for her -- the only thing I have left."

Jack craned his neck to look at her. Her face was a study in harsh angles, her beauty overshadowed by tension, anger. By pain, he realized. Guilt. If that was indeed the face of his wife, then he knew the expression. And he knew the emotion.

"If you get him before I do, I want proof."

"Oh? I'll be sure to send you his head in a box, then," she snapped. "Can I expect the same of you?"

"That would suffice. And yes, I'll do the same if you leave a forwarding address. Or shall I simply leave it on a pike outside Moscow?"

Irina's lips twitched. "There's no need for that. I'll leave a contact address with Carmelita. Simply send a note. With a finger." She grinned, and it was not entirely pleasant.

Jack shook his head. "He faked Emily's death by sending himself her finger."

"Ironic, is it not?"

"Only if you plan on letting him live."

"I don't." She replied flatly.

"I'm not arrogant enough to assume I will kill him before you do. But I will hold you to it, Irina." His voice was like broken glass.

She nodded. Her fingers twitched, as if to reach out for him. Rising, she rounded the bed to check the IV drip. "You'd better get some rest. Sloane is waiting."

Jack watched her with mild curiosity. She could kill him, her fingertips hovering over his morphine drip. Oddly enough, he found he didn't care. Was it because he trusted her, or because it would be a relief if she decided to kill him here? He decided that he ought to at least protest. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Off his look, she said, patiently: "I'm making sure you have enough sedative. Unless you'd rather I leave it like this?"

Jack looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "I don't want to feel anything," he said wearily.

"I know."


	4. Chapter 4

Irina moved through the doorway, pausing to glance over at Jack. He had been lucky. Damn lucky. She closed the door softly behind her. Walking back down the hall toward the kitchen, Irina considered their options. They couldn't stay here forever. Doing so could cause undue attention to Carmelita. Irina liked the old woman. Despite a shaky start, she was beginning to see just how capable and caring the doctor was. *It's a rare thing,* she thought, *to see such devotion in another human being.*

The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafted down the hall, and Irina found Carmelita in her kitchen, watching over a pot of brewing coffee. The elderly doctor eyed her over her thick glasses, "You have spoken to him? That is good. Come and sit, we can have coffee."

Irina eyed the pot with interest, and took a seat at the little wooden dining table. "That smells wonderful, Senora," Irina said. The adrenaline rush of earlier gone, she felt the urge to sleep dragging at her. "And yes, I have spoken to him. He's improving, if his attitude is any indication." 

"He will be well. Slow these next few days, perhaps lightheaded. You may stay as long as you wish, my home is yours."

Irina nodded. She rose to help Carmelita with the coffee. "There aren't a lot of people who would have done what you have--debt or no debt. Aren't you concerned about the possible repercussions?"

"I am old," Carmelita shrugged. "I have nothing to fear. And I owe Juan the lives of my child, and now my grandchildren. He is a good man, but no one looks out for him. He is..." she smiled, "Adopted, you may say."

Irina chuckled "And I'm sure he could not wish for better aunt." She paused thoughtfully, pouring a measured amount of the freshly brewed coffee into her mug. "He *is* a good man," she said softly.

"Si," Carmelita agreed and took a sip of her coffee and eyed Irina over her cup, collecting her thoughts. "It is good. He needed you last night; it was a close thing. Just a little further to the side," she held up her hand, indicating a small gap between her thumb and forefinger. "Just a little, he would have been gone in minutes. I'm glad you were watching for him."

Irina's had closed about her cup convulsively. She brought it to her lips for another drink, covering the slip. "Well, I'm sure you're the only one."

"The deed was good, no matter who is not thankful. And who would not be? Juan has enemies I'm sure, who want him dead. But his friends will thank you." Carmelita took a seat across from Irina. "Something lies between you two," she said, her gazed fixed intently on Irina. "I see it with the eyes of an old woman who has looked at death and life many times. There is a great pain there, but something also that ties you to the other."

"Ah. That is a very long story, Senora."

"And you do not have to say, Senora." Carmelita reached out and patted Irina's hand. "I am only glad for him that he does have a friend who saves his life. And glad for you that he would do the same. And more than that, well, I shall light a candle for you in church tomorrow," she said with a wizened grin.

Irina didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the comment. She stared at Carmelita for a moment. "Thank you for the vote of confidence. I have a feeling I'll need it." Her gaze shifted to the partially open door of the surgery.

"You do not believe me," Carmelita said. "But I understand. You care for him, I see that. I hope he treats you well."

Irina frowned slightly. "As well as he can, I suppose." 

Carmelita frowned as well. "Juan... does not let anyone into his heart. I see glimpses of it, sometimes. It was a beautiful thing once, but now," she trailed off. "Hidden. I hope to live to see it one day."

"Me, too, Senora. Someday."

"You are weary," Carmelita said kindly. "You should rest now. I shall go into town, and get food and some new clothes for both of you. And see if any dangerous gossip has found its way here."

Irina rose and put her cup in the sink. "Thank you again for your hospitality. If there is any way I can repay you--"

The old woman held up her hand. "There is no 'pay this' and 'owe that' between friends, Senora. Just have a rest and the world may look different when you wake."

"I'm sure you're right," she replied. Irina headed up the stairs to the bedroom.

Irina stripped out of her clothing, grateful for the coolness of the sheets. 

Her mind wandered to the surgery, where Jack was still fast asleep. She'd been shocked to see him at the compound, and not just because of his sudden appearance. 

Jack looked brittle, somehow, broken. The man she remembered from a year ago had been angry, but not defeated. Irina's lips thinned. She wondered how she'd looked to /him/. Did she have the same hollow-eyed gaze, the same frailty?

She brushed the thought aside, too exhausted to follow it any further. Sleep was dragging at her, pulling her down into a warm cocoon.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Senora Laura, I think we have a problem." 

Irina jerked awake and stared hazily at Carmelita. Sitting up, she scrubbed her hands over her face. "What's wrong?"

"I went to town, while you were sleeping. In the cafe, I overheard the baker say that there were strangers in town, asking questions about other strangers that may have arrived last night."

"Have they connected you to us?" Irina was already pulling on a pair of loose-fitting pants.

The elderly woman shook her head. "No, I do not see how they may have. You came in the night and have not left the house, there is nothing to make even my neighbors think you are here."

Irina nodded. "How many of these 'strangers' are in town now? Did the baker say?"

"No. I did not ask, I wanted no one to notice me. It is hard to say," Carmelita stared out the window thoughtfully, her chin resting on her hand. "It would only take one stranger asking questions to start these stories in town. But it is wrong to pretend that there is only one."

"You're right. One or twenty, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry, Senora. You've been very kind. But I think we should leave. The longer we stay, the more dangerous it becomes for you." In two quick strides, she was at the door. She took the stairs at an easy clip. "Can Jack be moved?" She called back to the doctor. It was only a courtesy question. Jack would *have* to move, whether he was ready or not. The familiar surge of adrenaline chased away the last of her exhaustion. She'd crash later, she knew, and crash hard. For now, she couldn't afford to dwell on weakness.

Carmelita trailed after her. "No, he should not be moved. But he will have to. I will give you all the supplies I have for him, Senora."

"Thank you." Irina raced down the hallway and into the surgery, and behind her, Carmelita followed with a large, black bag. While the doctor rapidly dumped medical supplies in the bag, Irina bent over Jack.

He lay prone on the table, his breathing shallow, but even. She felt a twinge of regret at having to wake him.

She leaned over and gripped him gently by the shoulder. "Jack, wake up. We have to go. We've been followed." Her voice was low so as not to startle him, but no less urgent.

It took some time and a great deal of shaking before Jack stirred. His eyes were unfocused, his skin pale. "Trouble?"

"Maybe. People are asking questions in the village."

His bleary eyes met hers. "I have to trust you again."

Irina fought down a flash of irritation. "It's your choice, Jack, as always. But we *do* have to move. *Now.* Do you understand?" Her tone sharpened as she saw his eyelids flutter.

Jack pushed himself into a sitting position and pulled out his IVs. "Is our location compromised," he asked thickly.

"Not yet. But I think it's better that we leave before anyone sees us, or notices a break in Carmelita's routine."

"Agreed," Jack said. He pulled off his oxygen tube and pulse monitor. Seeing Carmelita moving around the surgery, he said, "I'm sorry, Tia."

The doctor stopped for a moment and laid a hand on Jack's cheek. "Tsk. Do not worry for me, Juan el Toro. Just regain your strength." She smiled fondly at him. "I will pack a lunch for you both, for your journey."

"Gracias, Carmelita. Vaya con vios," he said with a brief, ghostly smile before the old woman turned away and went into her kitchen.

Irina noticed his pallor, and gestured toward the wheelchair. "Can you stand?"

"I'll make it." Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed. He eyed the wheelchair with distaste, but did not protest. His good leg barely supported his weight, but he stumbled into the chair and sat. "I need my pack. Carmelita has it."

Irina nodded. "I'll get it." She wheeled him to the back door. Circling around so she could face him, she said: "I need to go get the Rover. Will you be all right?" Jack's eyes were still dilated, she noticed, and he seemed to have trouble focusing them. *Damn. Well, at least he's not feeling any pain,* she thought.

Jack grabbed her wrist, "Don't leave without the bag."

Irina glanced down at the hand gripping hers, and then back up at Jack's face. The haziness was gone. In its place was a kind of manic clarity. What was in that bag, that he thought he had to guard it with his life? "We won't, Jack. I promise."

His lip curled, but he nodded. "Let's go."

Irina snapped her wrist to the side and then in, breaking his hold on her. Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode toward the kitchen. Carmelita stood at the counter, finishing up one last sandwich.

"Senora, it's time for us to go. You've been a good friend to us. I wish I'd had the chance to get to know you better. But staying longer would only put you in danger." Irina smiled grimly. "And Jack would kill me if that happened, comprende?"

"Comprende," Carmelita said with a smile. "You are a good friend to Juan, even if you two argue with every word. You are both alike in many ways, a panther and a bull. Have patience," she advised as she handed Irina the large duffel bag containing medical supplies and a smaller satchel of food.

Irina laughed. "That man excels at trying my patience," she replied. "I've waited this long for him, I can wait a little longer." She laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thank you. Jack is already in the car. He mentioned a bag, something he had given to you for safekeeping?"

The doctor blinked for a moment, considering, and then came to a conclusion. "Si. His black bag, I placed it in my closet. He told me it was very important, Senora. Take it to him. Tell Juan I will be safe, he worries too much. As soon as your car leaves, I'm going to the house of a friend across the street. I can watch my house without fear from there. Goodbye Senora."

"Goodbye, Carmelita. Be well." Irina was relieved that the doctor wouldn't remain at her home. Even with the extra protection that Irina intended to provide, there was still a risk.

Ascending the stairs, Irina located Jack's bag and then dashed back out to the car. Two minutes later, they were on the road to Lima.


	5. Chapter 5

An hour and a half later, Irina pulled into the parking lot of a modest inn in the business district of Lima. The rain was coming down hard now, beating on the windshield. Irina glanced over at Jack. 

He was asleep. He had curled up on his good side, awkwardly restrained by the seat belt. Irina considered waking him, but thought better of it. She sat in the car a moment, gathering her thoughts. Moving Jack was going to be a problem. While Irina didn't doubt that he could (and would) walk if he absolutely had to, he couldn't really afford any more damage to his injured leg. Which left their options limited.

There was a second problem, as well. Two strangers arriving at an inn in the dead of night would look suspicious. Memorable. Dangerously memorable. Irina glanced at Jack again, noting the stain that was once again soaking his pants leg. *Damn. All right. We can't stay out here all night.* Her gaze swept the area again, looking desperately for a solution.

She froze as her eyes came to rest on a figure huddled under an awning two buildings down. She'd almost discounted him as a pile of rags. The man stumbled, throwing out a hand for balance even as the other lifted a bottle to his lips.

Irina grinned.

Turning to rummage in the back of the Rover, she pulled out her wallet. Pulling a few bills free, she nudged Jack

Jack's eyes opened blearily, then fixed on Irina. They flickered dark for a moment, then he said raspily, "Problem?"

"Nothing I can't handle. Just sit tight for a minute. I'll be right back."

Jack grunted, and his eyes slid closed.

Irina jumped out of the car and made a beeline for the drunk. The man gazed up at her through watery, myopic eyes. "Quieres?"

"Esta." Irina pointed to the bottle in his hand.

His eyes narrowed. "No."

She gave him her most sympathetic smile. "Por favor?" She waved a stack of bills under the man's nose.

His eyes flickered from the cash in Irina's hand to her face and back again. Quickly, he snatched the money from her and shoved his drink in her direction. A moment later he had scuttled off down the street.

Turning swiftly, Irina headed back to the car. She got in and tapped Jack on the shoulder. "Come on. It's time to wake up."

Jack stirred and sat up in his seat. A grimace of pain flickered across his features. "Where are we?"

"At a hotel just outside of Lima."

His eyes darted to the bottle in her hand. "We're checking in?"

"Not we. Me. You look like hell, Jack. There's no way someone isn't going to notice. But I have a plan." She brandished the bottle of liquor, a devilish glint in her eye.

"Right. You check in and I'll be the inebriated companion."

She chuckled. "Exactly." She handed him the drink. "I'll be back. I'll expect a good show when I return."

Irina grabbed both her pack and Jack's, and stepped out into the rain to check in. The inn welcomed her with a blast of light and warmth as she walked through the doors. Behind the front desk stood a young man of perhaps twenty-four or five. He rubbed a hand wearily across his face and blinked. He stood up straighter as Irina entered.

"May I help you, Senora?"

Irina walked up to the desk, a conciliatory smile on her face. "Yes, please." she said. "My husband and I are looking for a place to stay." She lowered her voice. "It's shameful. My husband drinks a little too much." She shook her head. "I can't drive all the way back home in this storm, and he's no help, comprende?" Irina looked away from the clerk, biting her lip.

The young man's eyes darted back and forth nervously. "Senora, I am sorry. We have no more rooms available." 

*He's lying.* she thought.

"Oh, now, there must be *something* left, Si? My husband and I won't take up too much room."

"Uh...Well..." 

Irina's expression was triumphant.

"There is el Jefe's private suite..."

"Lovely! We'll take it." 

"Senora, it is his private--" 

"Oh, si, I know. But he wouldn't want you to turn away valuable customers, would he?"

Reaching into her pack, Irina pulled out roll of currency. The young man's eyes widened.

"Now, Senor. If you can help me with one more detail..."

Five minutes later, Irina was headed back to the Rover, a bulky bellhop in tow. "He's an angel, really." She was saying. "Slept most of the way here. He won't be any trouble at all." 

She stopped at the passenger side window, momentarily blocking the hotel worker's view. Jack was propped up against the door. A sheen of water – or sweat -- covering his face. *Ready?* she mouthed.

His face pressed against the glass, Jack's eyes turned up to look at her, and then slowly closed. He was ready.

"Come on now. I've found us a room." Irina tapped on the glass lightly. When he didn't move, she sighed. "I'm afraid he's passed out again." Gesturing to the bellhop, she said, "I'll open the door, and you stand *there*, yes, and we'll pull him out together. All right?" 

The man nodded, and Irina saw him brace himself to catch Jack. She hid a smile. "One, and two and...three!" She jerked the door open.

Unbalanced, Jack tumbled out of the car. His arms flailed, but he couldn't stop his fall. 

Irina moved quickly, catching hold of Jack's right arm and drawing it over her shoulders. He fell heavily against her, almost knocking them both off balance. Irina caught herself and shifted her weight to her back leg. 

"Quickly!" She snapped, and the bellhop stepped forward to grab Jack's other arm. 

"Easy now." Slowly, they inched across the parking lot, Jack's solid frame between them. Irina grimaced. He was a dead weight, dragging against every step.

He also stank of alcohol. After a few feet of dragging, Jack stirred and slurred, "Where are we, sweetheart?" 

"At a hotel," she replied patiently, as if speaking to a small child. "The rain is too harsh. We need to stop for the night." She flashed the bellhop a pained look, and saw an answering glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. *Good.*

"'Don't need help. I can walk." Jack put his good leg out and stopped them; then he managed a half-limp, half-lurch. "Thanks so much, gracias, muchos... Pedro." He mumbled at the bellhop.

The man flushed, and Irina shot him another, embarrassed look. Jack wavered on his feet a few steps ahead of them. Irina shoved damp hair out of her face and let out a frustrated sigh. "Darling...The door is *this* way." She guided him gently toward the front entrance.

"Okay pumpkin," Jack drawled. When he entered the lobby, he blinked in the light. "Oh, too bright. Turn the sun off, Pedro, please." He stopped and began teetering ominously.

*Pumpkin? Oh, he's going to pay for that one...* Irina gripped Jack's arm tightly. The bellhop hurried to his other side. "We're almost there, Sugar. Into the elevator now...that's good."

"You're so good to me, Tootsie," Jack sniffed. "Too good. I'm just a drunk." He leaned despondently against the rail in the elevator.

The elevator doors closed with a click, leaving a very relieved bellhop in the lobby.

Irina turned and smacked Jack lightly on the shoulder. "'Tootsie?'"

"Angel?" Jack countered.

Irina fought back a smile. "Cream puff?"

"That was next."

"I bet." The elevator dinged, and Irina stepped out. Turning, she said, "The room is five doors down. Need help?"

Jack looked down the hall and swallowed. "Yeah."

Irina offered him her arm. After a few stops and starts, they made it to their room. Jack leaned against the wall as Irina opened the door. 

"Is this the honeymoon suite?" Jack asked as he eyed the decor. It wasn't on par with the best tourist hotels, but for the location it was impressive.

Irina chuckled. "Not quite. It's the owner's." She started moving their luggage inside the doorway. "The poor fellow at the desk didn't want to give it up, but I persuaded him that it was for a good cause."

"Good enough." Winded and perspiring, Jack made it the last few steps to the bed and all but collapsed onto it. He took a few deep breaths and asked, "Can you hand me my bag?"

Irina nodded and placed the bag beside him on the bed. She then went about storing the rest of their things in the closet. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her back to him. "Do you need another pill?"

When Irina's back was turned, Jack rifled through his bag and relaxed when his fingers fell up on the item he was searching for – the datatriever that contained the download from the chemical plant's server. He placed it under his pillow. "Yeah. That wouldn't be a bad idea. Could I have some water?" He zipped his bag closed and tossed it on the floor by the bed.

Irina nodded. She went into the bathroom, returning with a cup of water in one hand and a tablet in the other. She handed both to Jack and said: "I'm going to get changed." Disappearing into the bathroom once more, Irina left Jack to get settled on his own.

Jack took the pill and his glass. He lay there for a moment before deciding to sit up and remove his shoes and socks. He then stripped off his shirt and lay back down again to recover his strength before attempting to get into the bed. 

Staring at the ceiling, his mind wearily reviewed the events of the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday he had been master of his own destiny, black as that destiny was. And now? He was helpless, drawn once again into Irina Derevko's web. In his exhausted state, he couldn't summon up a significant degree of resentment towards her. For him, Sydney's death had eclipsed any agony Irina could unleash upon him. So he remained. And, if he were completely honest with himself, he found her presence comforting. He did not care to examine why.

No matter. It would be a short interval, as were all of his experiences with Irina in the past.

Jack shrugged mentally and lifted the blankets to work his way under them. He had just managed to get himself situated when Irina re-entered the room. She wore a cream-colored nightshirt and her damp hair hung about her shoulders.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes," Jack replied. Before anything else, he noticed the scent of herbal shampoo wafting from the bathroom, then took in her appearance. God help him, she was beautiful. Her long, slender legs were bare, and her damp hair only accentuated the shape of her face. "Yeah," he repeated. "Tired."

She nodded. "Sleep." She moved to the other side of the bed and hesitated briefly before getting in. She was exhausted. Her body, so long under the demands of stress and adrenaline, was refusing to move any further. If Jack had issues with sharing the bed, he was going to have to get over them. 

Irina slid under the covers, careful not to disturb him. She turned off the bedside lamp and closed her eyes. After a moment, she became aware of Jack's warmth seeping into her back. Irina bit her lip as she felt him shift, his weight dipping the bed slightly. *Bad idea, Irina.* she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against a tidal wave of memories that had no right to surface as she lay there with him in the dark.


	6. Chapter 6

Light filtered into the room, and Irina turned her head away from the window, closing her eyes tightly against the glare. After a few fruitless attempts at recapturing sleep, she sighed and opened her eyes fully. The ceiling fan turned lazily above her, a half hearted attempt at cooling the muggy air.

Irina sat up cautiously, careful not to disturb Jack. His condition hadn't worsened in the night, she noted with relief. There *was* a bit of a grey cast about his features, but that would fade with time. 

There was, she thought, a quietness about him in sleep. He lay supine, his entire body relaxed. It was so unlike the cold, stony exterior that was his waking companion. 

Sighing, she tossed the sheets aside and slid out of bed. Despite her best efforts, it appeared she was up. She could either wallow in self-pity, or do something useful. Glancing one more time at Jack, she made her way into the bathroom to change. 

They still needed food, and supplies. There had to be a a store near the hotel that sold the basics. Sliding on a pair of sandals she borrowed from Carmelita, Irina grabbed some cash and headed out toward the city.

+++++++++++++++++

Some time later, Jack was woken by Irina returning and bustling about the small hotel room. The smell of food immediately caught his senses and sparked his interest. He was starving. He reached underneath his pillow and, finding the datatriever intact, relaxed enough to greet her. "You're back. With food?"

She nodded, and held up a bag. "Local cuisine." She dragged a chair over to the side of the bed and, using the blankets as a makeshift table, began parcelling out cartons. 

Jack slowly sat upright, fighting back a cringe as a jolt of pain shot through his thigh. When he steadied himself, he ate hungrily, devouring his portion without bothering to taste it. Thinking back, he decided that he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. He gulped down a third can of soda and lay back on the propped-up pillows. "Thanks." He looked up at her directly, then added, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied. She got up and took their empty plates to the sink. She returned a moment later and sat down next to him. Her features were grim. 

"Look," she said. "I know you don't trust me." she held up a hand at his mutinous look. "I'm not asking you to. But we *do* need to discuss strategy in the broad sense. Otherwise, we could find ourselves working at cross-purposes."

Jack refrained from commenting on her honesty, and eyed her coolly. He very deliberately wiped his hands on his napkin and set it aside. "Are you working with Sloane? That *would* create a broad strategic conflict."

She laughed sharply. "Despite appearances, Sloane was never my ally. I'm surprised, Jack. I thought you were more intelligent than that."

"I can only imagine the constant disappointment I've always been for you."

Irina's eyes narrowed. "Do you enjoy being deliberately obtuse?"

"I don't enjoy anything," Jack said flatly.

"I know." She said quietly. "Neither do I."

They were silent for a moment, two adversaries taking stock of the other. "So," Jack said crisply. "Historical baggage aside, the crux of the problem is that while our goals may appear to be convergent, I do not trust you. This recalls the last time we agreed to work together against Sloane. Being betrayed by you yet again would be ... tedious. What guarantee do you offer?"

"Sydney." Irina closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, her gaze was level with his. "You can think whatever you like about me, Jack. But *do not* for one second assume that I do not love our daughter. That should be enough, even for you."

Jack nearly scoffed at her professed love. Examples hovered on his tongue, the many times in the last few months that she had tugged at Sydney's heartstrings then ruthlessly crushed her hopes. He held back, though, because in Irina's eyes, in her voice, he could sense an echo of the ache that gripped his own soul. He could, after all, sympathize with loving a child but hurting her inadvertently.

And now, with the child gone, every other consideration melted away.

Jack returned her gaze steadily, the only trace of emotion in his face was the slight working of a muscle in his jaw. After a long minute, he spoke. "Fair enough. There's no point to this argument anymore. Know this Irina: I walk into this with no illusions as to your reliability. You can betray me, but you won't fool me."

Irina gazed back at him coolly, her features set. "You can believe what you want--you're so determined to see the worst in me, anyway, so there's really no point in me trying to change your mind, is there?"

"None," Jack affirmed. He took a deep breath and considered their next step. This was a truce between them, an uneasy alliance. He would accept it; through working together they could achieve the desired goal quickly and efficiently. It was a simple mathematical equation, like so many thousands he had worked through in his life. 

But it wasn't simple at all. 

Jack sat quietly, his eyes hooded. After a long minute, he reached underneath his pillow and pulled out the datatriever he had been hiding, a peace offering. "I downloaded the contents of the server at the chemical plant. According to my intel, the plant is a front company for Arvin Sloane. Do you concur?"

"What? No...Jack, that plant was owned by the Covenant."

"I traced the bank accounts, Irina," Jack said firmly.

Irina leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. "I have a source in the Covenant. That's how I found out about the plant in the first place."

"What is the Covenant?" Jack asked evenly.

"It's a new organization. They're interested in Rambaldi, like so many others. The group arose out of nowhere a year ago. They started with the basics -- arms dealing, international drug trafficking. No one thought to take any notice of them, something so new couldn't possibly have a viable power base. But that's all changed in recent months. New recruits. More capital. Their growth has been astronomical, Jack."

Jack looked away, his eyes fell upon the mirror across the room. He could see himself in it, and Irina's back. They looked odd, he thought, sitting together in this shoddy hotel room. Turning his mind back to the problem at hand, he said, "When you have eliminated the impossible..." he began.

"... Whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth." Irina finished, her voice grim. "Dammit. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. If I had, maybe Sydney..." She sucked in a breath.

Maybe. Jack wanted to throw it back at her, remind her of the role her duplicity played in Sydney's death. But then he would have to face his own failings, his own inability to protect his daughter. Recriminations, he reminded himself, would not support the strategic goal. 

There would be plenty of time for them later.

"You came here to destroy a Rambaldi artifact that the Covenant was holding." Jack pressed forward, setting aside Irina's guilt for the moment. "As it turns out, you destroyed an artifact that Sloane owned."

She laughed sharply. "Ironic, isn't it? Still, it serves the same purpose."

"And your assessment was correct: we can't efficiently track down Sloane, we must compel him to come to us. And the only guarantee of drawing him out lies in Rambaldi."

Irina nodded. "Our next lead should be in the information you downloaded at the plant."

"Yes. I have a computer and other supplies in a storage unit downtown." He leaned over and reached down for his bag, and rifled through it to hand her a key. He worked his jaw for a moment and added, "I could use some clothes, too."

++++++++++++++++

The shop was smaller than most, and was set back from the bustle of the main avenues. Irina parked the car and ducked in through the door. She stood in the entrance for a moment, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. 

Racks of clothing were crowded into the small space. Irina's gaze snapped to the proprietor, a matronly woman seated on a stool behind the counter. She was knitting a shawl, while a small, dusty television blared beside her. 

Irina ignored her for a moment and focused her attention on the clothing. She hadn't shopped for Jack in....well, in a long time. She squelched the sense of deja-vu that rose within her. She spent a few minutes looking through shirts, slacks and vests before picking out a few items that were casual and comfortable, yet nondescript.

Twenty minutes later, Irina exited the shop with her arms laden with bags. She dumped them all in the Rover's backseat and set off on the second part of her errand.

Jack's storage unit was one of ten set in a semi-circle on a small paved lot in downtown Lima. The owner walked her to the unit, but didn't stay while she unlocked it--a fact Irina was grateful for. She didn't need an extra set of prying eyes around. She didn't want to have to explain away whatever *interesting* objects Jack might have chosen to store here.

Irina scanned the inside of the unit. A set of ropes and pitons hung against one wall. A Kevlar vest was tacked to another. The rest of the equipment tended toward the electronic: surveillance radios, video cameras and various tracking devices. She found Jack's laptop computer on a shelf near the back of the unit. Retrieving it, Irina stepped once again into the bright sunlight and relocked the door.

She keep the computer next to her in the front seat. On the way back to the hotel, she wondered what type of intel Jack had. The names of those higher-up in the Covenant? A location on Sloane? Whatever it was, Jack felt it was important enough to risk getting shot for. Irina's own intel was hardly reassuring. It was clear the Covenant was ready to play hardball, and with Sloane backing them, there was no limit to the damage they could do. Irina frowned as she pulled into the parking lot.

She struggled with the packages as she opened the hotel room door. She dumped everything on the bed, and placed the computer on the little end table beside the window. 

She turned back toward the shopping bags, and froze.

Jack sat in an overstuffed armchair in the corner, his body wrapped in nothing but a sheet. His hair was damp from his shower. Irina noticed he had managed to shave; his jaw was smooth and stubble-free. Jack's head lolled to the side and his eyes were closed and his breathing even.

He made quite a picture, slouched in the chair with the sheet swathed around him like a toga. On another man, the ensemble would have looked comical, but on Jack... Irina shook her head, dismissing the thought. 

She almost hated to wake him. 

Irina strode forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Caesar, time to wake up. The cavalry has arrived." 

His eyelids fluttered open and his gaze rested briefly on her lips before he sat up and said, "Clothes?"

"Yeah." She walked over to the bed and picked up one of the bags. "I wasn't too sure about size, but I think these should do." She handed him a fresh set of clothing.

Jack took the bundle, then hesitated. She met his eyes briefly and sensed his awkwardness in disrobing in front of her. Shrugging slightly, Irina turned her back to him and concentrated on Jack's laptop. "When was the last time you used this thing? It has about an inch of dust on it!"

"I keep it for emergencies." She heard the rustling of fabric as Jack dressed. He shrugged on his t-shirt and said, "Let's access the server memory."

Irina dragged the small end table over and situated it between Jack's chair and the bed. Setting the computer on top of it, Irina then sat down on the edge of the bed.

He opened the laptop and booted it up, then connected the datatriever to it. "We'll have to run some searches," he said as he quickly typed commands into the computer. "What we're looking for could be anywhere, and the database on the server was very large. Since we're looking for Rambaldi, to begin with, do you have any text strings you'd like to try?" He swung the laptop around, offering her the keyboard. 

Irina nodded. She tapped a few commands of her own into the computer. After a moment, a flood of data scrolled up the screen. She paused the search, and scanned the results. "Most of these are schematics and hypotheses on the crystals I destroyed." She mused. She leaned over and entered another search string. 

Jack and Irina combed through the data. Hours passed and they grew glassy-eyed with fatigue. They took turns at the computer, following the trail from point to point, until, finally, it ended.

"Stockholm. Scatola di pace." Irina leaned back and rubbed her eyes. "Box of Peace."

"Sounds inspirational," Jack deadpanned.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Lima, Peru  
Jorge Chavez International Airport

Jack sat stiffly in his seat, his jaw rigid. He turned his attention to the window, and was now gazing fixedly at the tarmac. The plane was, predictably, delayed. They had been sitting there for over an hour.

He felt Irina shift beside him, sensed her eyes on him. "You should try to get some rest," She said. "If you'd taken the pills I gave you--"

Jack bristled at her suggestion. "It's not necessary," he grunted. He reached for the in-flight catalog and began perusing it as if it were literature worthy of careful study.

"Not necessary?" Beneath them, the jet engines roared to life. "Dammit, Jack, you're in pain, and exhausted. Which is *exactly* why I didn't want you going in the first place. I refuse to put both our lives at risk just so you can play the silent martyr."

Irritation flashed in his eyes, though he casually flipped the magazine pages. "Let's take a walk through your scenario, shall we? I stay behind in a location of your choosing, while you go out and retrieve the intel. Then you return to pick me up and share all you've learned?"

Irina raised an eyebrow. "You're not fit for an undercover op right now, and you know it."

"You're not answering my question."

Irina sighed. "All right, lets take a look at your scenario. In it, we both raid Stockholm's GG&K Trust, despite the fact that you can't even stand up without assistance. How far will we get, I wonder, before someone guns us down because you were just a *second* too slow?"

"The solution," Jack said crisply. "Is to develop an op that takes both our concerns into account."

Irina closed her eyes briefly. "All right, a compromise. Would you be happy with a less hazardous role?

Jack nodded. "If I have adequate oversight of the operation."

The airplane's engine reached a high pitched whine, and they started to move. "I think that can be arranged."

A touch of humor tugged at the corner of Jack's mouth. "You agreed to a compromise."

Irina bit her lip. "I did."

Jack grunted and flipped the page. The flight attendants were working their way down the aisle, making sure tray tables were down and seatbelts were fastened. "So, sweetheart. What do you think of the radio-controlled aroma therapy disco ball for the den?" He turned the catalog around and showed her the picture.

Irina wrinkled her nose. Without missing a beat, she said: "Too seventies."

"Yes," Jack nodded sagely. "I can see where the seventies would hold bad memories for you."

Irina shrugged lightly. "Oh, I don't know. They had their good moments."

"It was a period of great personal and professional success for you," Jack pointed out. He was, he did not doubt, going to regret opening this conversation. But all the same, he couldn't resist digging, or in this case, instigating.

"I did have a great deal of personal satisfaction, yes. My career path, however, left something to be desired."

The flight attendant was at the row ahead of them, dealing with an elderly woman requesting excess pillows. "I never would have guessed. But then again, I didn't, did I?"

"Oh, I think you knew a lot more about me than you give yourself credit for."

Jack flipped another page in his catalog. It ripped. What the hell was she trying to do? Confuse him. Irritate him. He was angry at himself for continuing the exchange; the only thing to do was to end it now. "But overall, you're quite correct. There's no reason to relive the past."

A shadow passed quickly over her features. "You should try to sleep," she said. "It's going to be a long flight."

"I'll take it under consideration," Jack replied sharply before stuffing his catalog into the seat pocket.

"Do whatever you like." Irina tilted her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Stockholm, Sweden

Faint rays of sunshine glanced off of the sleek glass monstrosity that was the GK&K Trust. Irina adjusted the lapels of her black power suit and then tapped her earbud experimentally. 

"Blackbird, this is Nighthawk. Do you copy?"

"Nighthawk," Jack's crisp voice came through the elaborate comm system they had procured. "This is Blackbird. Proceed."

Irina could almost see Jack sitting in the surveillance van, surrounded by monitors and switchboards, his intense expression lit by the dim electronic lights. It was their compromise, something neither of them entirely approved of, but decided to accept.

"I'm moving now," Irina said, striding up the sidewalk and shoving the plate glass doors open.

She took a moment to scan the area, noting the video cameras situated at either end of the lobby. To her left, deep seated leather chairs were arranged against a bank of windows. 

Irina hurried toward the front desk, and the bored looking receptionist behind it.

"I'm late for the Olson meeting!" She snapped.

"Ma'am, we're about to--"

"Ah!" After a moment of searching, Irina triumphantly pulled a rumpled piece of paper from her bag. She made a show of scanning it. "Do you know where Conference Room 105 is?"

The woman frowned. "Ma'am, that's a private meeting."

Irina glared at her. She raised one eyebrow haughtily. "Of course it is. And I'm sure if you'll check the list of attendees, my name will be on there." 

The clerk frowned, but obediently called up the roster for that evening's meeting on her computer.

Jack's voice crackled over the connection. "Pulling it up now," she heard the clicking of a computer keyboard. "Can you stall for thirty seconds?" 

Irina tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and launched into a steady stream of irritated babble: "They really *shouldn't* plan these things so late. I just flew in from Tokyo. Do you have *any idea* how jet-lagged I am right now? Who planned this? I haven't even had dinner..."

Twenty-six seconds later, Jack told Irina, "It's done. And I have the building schematics ready. The tap into security audio and video is complete. You are clear to proceed. I'll direct you to a holding area once you enter the secure section."

Irina glared at the desk clerk. "Well? Am I free to go?"

"Uh....yes, Ms. Von Rosen. Room 105 is down that hallway." The woman motioned to a corridor behind her. "Five doors down and to the right."

Irina nodded and turned sharply on her heel. "*Thank* you." She moved past the reception area and into the building proper. A uniformed guard nodded to her as she moved past him.

The main corridor branched off in several directions, leading to various office suites. The lights were turned low--the bank was near closing. Irina checked her watch. "Thirty minutes before the front doors are locked," she said softly into the comm.

She scanned the area around her. The main corridor boasted two cameras, one at each intersection. She nodded at the one in front of her and was rewarded with Jack's voice in her ear. "Visual contact verified. A static video loop is being fed into central security. Proceed." Irina turned left and picked the lock of the nearest office.

Once inside, Irina glanced around her, noting the large glass window that took up half of the back wall. Stockholm's evening lights glittered beyond the barrier. "Nice view," she murmured. She walked over to the window and peered out. 

"Blackbird, I'm in an office just off the main corridor, in the east wing of the building. Where do I go from here?"

"The vault," Jack replied. "Take the corridor south and you'll run right into it. You have approximately thirty-two minutes before the bank is cleared. I'll monitor personnel movements."

"All right. I'm running silent for a while. Let me know if anything changes." 

"Copy that, Nighthawk."

Irina settled down at the base of the window, gazing out at the gleaming city around her. After a moment, the lights began to blur, as Irina deliberately slowed her breathing and dropped into a light meditation.

Thirty minutes later, Irina heard the crackle of the comm in her ear and opened her eyes.

"Nighthawk this is Blackbird. Do you copy?"

Irina opened her eyes. "I'm here," she replied, rising from her position on the floor and stretching. "What's our status?"

"The bank is clear," Jack replied. "You may proceed. I'm not showing any guards between you and the outer vault."

"Good. Moving now." Irina pulled a gun from beneath her suit jacket and attached a silencer to the barrel. Cracking the office door open a bit, she peered out into the hallway, scanning the area for threats.

As Jack had said, the coast was clear. The overhead fluorescents were dim, casting a grey glow onto the walls. Irina moved into the main corridor, gun at her side. 

Moving cautiously through the maze of offices, Irina made her way to the south side of the building. She just missed being spotted as a two man patrol rounded the corner into her corridor. She ducked quickly into a small kitchen, crouching down against the refrigerator as they passed by.

She touched her earpiece. "Blackbird, I'm seeing unexpected activity in this area. What's happening?" Irina frowned. Jack claimed she had a clear shot, directly to the vault. Where the hell had the security come from?

"Stand by," Jack said quickly. He was silent for a moment, and again the rapid clicks of his keyboard came through her comm link. "Nighthawk, what is your location?"

"South wing, east corridor." Irina stepped cautiously into the hallway again. The patrol was gone, but Irina was far from reassured. She gripped her weapon tighter. 

"Hold position," Jack said quickly. "Verifying." She heard the catch of his breath over the comm. "The video feed is malfunctioning." The businesslike tenor of his voice softened slightly with exasperation -- or confusion. "I can't see you."

He recovered quickly and regained his crisp confidence. "Switching to alternative strategy. I have the blueprints for the building, and can guide you to the objective. I cannot advise you of guard movements that are not broadcast in their radio communication. Copy?"

Irina took the safety off of her gun. She'd hoped to get out of the building without firing a shot. With each casualty, the risk increased. She couldn't afford any dead bodies, but neither could she afford to get caught. 

But now that the video feed was down, Irina was effectively blind. If she found herself boxed in she would have not choice but to take the guards out. She flattened herself against the wall and moved forward. "How far am I from the target?" She asked Jack tersely.

"Nighthawk. The risks have outweighed the potential benefits of this operation. Recommend abort."

Irina shook her head, then remembered he couldn't see her. "I disagree. The risks have increased, yes, but this is nothing I haven't dealt with before." 

"Copy that," Jack said after a moment's pause. "Proceed at your discretion. Based on your report, you are 35 meters from the vault. Continue south and turn left at the second junction. Proceed east until you reach double doors. There is a guard post behind those doors, best intel indicates there are two guards stationed there. Copy?"

Copy that." Irina slipped down the passage, careful to stay to the shadowed areas between the dim pools of florescent light. Thankfully, the security patrols seemed to die out as she got closer to the double doors.

Irina frowned as she reached the doors. The lock was disengaged and a small, metal wedge had been forced between them. Irina backed off, retreating to the doorway of a small storage room. "Blackbird, we have a problem. The security system to the south wing has been deactivated. Someone's here."

The tension in Jack's voice crept up a notch. "You have visual confirmation? Radio frequencies indicate security is unaware of any breech. Unless... Damn. My feeds must be a continuous blank loop engineered by the other intruder." Irina heard a low thump in the background, and she immediately pictured Jack executing a single, efficient pounding of his fist onto the console. 

Irina's earlier feelings of unease blossomed into full-blown anxiety. Nothing about this mission felt right, it hadn't from the beginning. Irina grimaced. Had she miscalculated? Was this just some sort of ruse to--

No. She refused to scare herself with what-ifs. The fact remained that she was on her own. Jack's intel was unreliable, at best. Grimly, she raised her gun and started toward the doors again.

"Blackbird, we have no choice. I am proceeding as planned."

"Negative," Jack said sharply. "There is always a choice. We have other options. Abort."

Irina paused. This mission was rapidly turning into a disaster. Yet, there seemed to be no verifiable threat. She bit her lip. "Is there any indication that security has noticed the breach, yet?"

"None. I'm verifying audio feed now. Checking police frequencies." He was quiet for thirty seconds that felt to Irina like thirty minutes. "If building security audio is on a loop like the video, then city police frequencies cannot be looped. I'm not detecting an alert at this time. I will continue monitoring. Regardless," he added forcefully. "This intel may only be accurate enough to assist exit strategy. Recommend abort."

"No. There has been no interference thus far. I'll continue for a bit longer." Irina strode forward and shoved the doors open, weapon at the ready. No hail of bullets greeted her entry, no shouting voices. It was eerily quiet. Irina scanned the area. The first thing she noticed was the guard booth. The bulletproof glass was spiderwebbed and cracked. Blood marred its surface.

The glass hadn't been enough to save the two guards. One man's body lay just at the entrance to the booth. His neck was bent at an impossible angle, and his limbs were as limp as a ragdoll's.

Irina lowered her pistol, but kept a firm grip on it. She walked over to the right side of the booth and saw the man's partner. Blood had begun to dry in his thick brown hair. After a moment of investigation, Irina found the cause of death--a bullet to the temple. 

Moving away from the security booth, Irina tapped her earpiece. "Blackbird, this is Nighthawk. The two guards inside the doorway are dead. Whoever this is, they're very thorough."

"Copy that," Jack replied, his tone even as he slipped back into purely professional mode. "Still no indication that the security breach has been noticed. The elevator to the lower level should be visible now."

Irina saw the elevator to her left. The schematics they'd looked over earlier had indicated the elevator would be protected by a barrier of lasers controlled from the guard post. Those, too, seemed to be out of commission. 

"I don't like this," she murmured. "It's too easy. It's as if someone *wants* us to..." Part of her knew it was foolish to continue. And yet...there was something driving her forward. A feeling. Whatever it was, the urge was strong enough that she ignored the warning bells sounding in her head. 

"Blackbird, do you have access to the biometrics system in this area yet?"

"Yes. I have the password for the guard console. You can add the fingerprint profile at will."

All right." Irina moved to the guard post again, squeezing into the booth next to it's unfortunate owner. She located the small computer and keypad. "I'm ready," she said, fingers hovering over the keys.

Jack provided her the password. "Entering it now." she said shortly. A long moment passed, and then the computer gave a cheerful beep. Irina sighed in relief. "Got it." 

Climbing out of the guard booth, she made her way to the elevator. Behind the doors, she could hear the heavy ::clunk:: of the car arriving. Quickly, she reached into the pocket of her slacks and produced a small glass slide. Carefully, Irina peeled a piece of cellophane tape from the slide and studied it in the light. Satisfied, she slipped the bit of glass back into her pocket and pressed the makeshift fingerprint onto the call button.

And nothing happened. 

Irina froze, feeling sick. She wondered if *this* was her mistake, the thing that would bring the mission crashing down around them.

But no, luck was with her again, it seemed. The doors slid open with a protesting groan, and Irina hurried into the car. The doors hissed shut, and she felt the telltale lurch in her stomach as the elevator descended.

Jack's voice came over the com, "I'm continuing to monitor activity, you're still clear." His professional clipped syllables slipped into relaxed tones. "At the risk of stating the obvious, be aware the intruder may still be in the vault."

Irina raised her eyebrows. "The thought *had* occurred to me," she replied archly. The elevator stopped with a gentle bump and the doors slid open. "What am I looking for?" she asked.

"Standard procedure has no guards in this section. The password to deactivate the motion sensors is available at your request. The artifact itself is your area of expertise," Jack replied with a hint of humor in his voice. 

Irina felt her lips curve upward in response. His tone was familiar; like an old blanket. In another life, she might have teased him a bit, fallen into the banter they knew so well. Now...Irina shook her head. She stepped out of the elevator and checked the sensors at either end of the hallway.

"The password isn't necessary, Blackbird. Once again, someone has done all the work for us." 

A feeling of dread grew within the pit of her stomach. Irina jogged the rest of the way to the vault. *This is wrong.* It was a mantra, beating in time with her heart.

"Abort. Get out of there, Irina," Jack pleaded. "The objective has probably been taken already, there's no purpose in risking yourself further for this."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm almost there...I have to know..." *What? What was it? There was something...*

Irina reached the vault and pried the doors the rest of the way open. She knew what she would find before she entered.

The room was empty. Only a small metal table remained where the artifact should have been. "Blackbird, this is Nighthawk. It's as we suspected. The target is gone."

Irina leaned up against one smooth wall, closing her eyes. They'd been too slow. If they'd just been a few minutes earlier... She shook her head. "We're done here. Whoever took the item didn't leave any evidence behind. He's probably long gone by now."

"This whole damn thing was a waste of time."

"Just get out of there. Checking... what..." Jack's voice broke off.

She tapped the comm piece, irritated. "Blackbird, I'm losing you. What is our..." But Irina never finished the question. An ear-splitting wail sounded throughout the complex. The lights blinked once. And then all hell broke loose.

The vault doors slammed shut, trapping Irina inside. The lights died completely, throwing her into complete darkness. Irina lunged forward and tried to pry the doors open.

"Blackbird!" She snapped. "The vault has been sealed. I'm trapped. What is going on?"

"What?" Jack's voice crackled through the com line, preoccupied and distracted. "You've what?" 

"I'm trapped! Jack, I need help. The lower level has been sealed!" Irina glanced around her blindly, trying to see through the inky blackness that surrounded her. She heard something--movement? She strained to listen. 

No, not movement. It was a strange hissing sound, like air being released from a balloon. 

*Not air.* Irina thought, and her stomach clenched. Where the hell was Jack? Was he completely shut out of the bank's security system?

"Blackbird..." The noise continued, and it was soon accompanied by a foul, sickly sweet smell. Irina dropped instantly into a crouch. What was it? Nerve gas? Or something more deadly? There were endless possibilities, none of which she wanted to experience. *Where are you Jack?* she thought. *Why haven't you contacted me?*

She shouted. "I need a way out of here, now!" She coughed. The chemicals ripped down her esophagus, burned their way into her lungs. She huddled in the corner, pulling her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth.

"Irina!" Jack said sharply. "Accessing failsafes now... what is your status?"

"I'm--" Another round of coughing hit her. Irina gasped and tried futilely to breathe. "Gas. The security system....released a toxin..." Irina blinked, trying to clear her vision. What little she could see seemed oddly distorted.

"Stand by," Jack said tersely. 

*'Stand by?' What the hell kind of response is that?* It wasn't as if she had a choice. Irina lay curled up on her side, her back against cold metal. *So, this is how it ends* she thought dreamily, *Trapped in a cage like some sort of animal.* She'd been here once before, only then, her cage had been made of glass. She could here Jack's voice in her ear, like the faint buzzing of a bee. He'd been there, too, just outside of the glass cage.

Irina blinked languidly.

She thought she saw his face in the reflection on the glass. Expressionless. Dead eyes. Dead heart.


	8. Chapter 8

The lights flared back to life, and the vault door ground open. Irina squinted, shielding her eyes from the sudden brightness. She tried to move, but her limbs seemed heavy, as if she were sinking into mud.

Guards appeared at the doorway and surrounded her. They had long faces, and their hands were white and skeletal against the black metal of their guns.

"Stand back," an authoritative voice announced, and two of the guards moved to the side to allow the other man in.

It was Jack, grim-faced and leaning on a cane. He bent over her, and gazed at her intently, as if she were a particularly interesting insect. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell was going on, but no sound came out, merely a soft puff of air as she exhaled.

Irina blinked. Jack looked stretched somehow, his skin leached of color. What is... She groped for the words again, trying to push past the thickness in her mind.

His features twisted into a frown and he tilted his head, as if inspecting her from a different angle would enhance his perception. "She is not unconscious. What gas was used?"

A guard replied nervously, "It's a paralytic."

Irina stared up at them. Everything seemed out of focus -- faces stared down at her, queerly distorted. Their voices sounded tinny and far away. Something inside her screamed that she should fight, escape. Adrenaline surged through her body and her legs twitched.

Jack turned and said something to the guard to his left. The man nodded. She saw him reach for a pair of handcuffs.

Irina's lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Her gaze darted to Jack. His back was turned toward her as he conferred with two other guards.

Bile rose in her throat. You. Betrayed. Me. She thought savagely. Her gaze burned into his back.

After a moment, the three finished their conversation, and one of the guards started toward her. He knelt down beside her and shoved her roughly onto her stomach.

As she felt the hard metal of the cuffs against her flesh, Irina panicked. She tried desperately to lash out. Once again, her body refused to obey her.

The guard turned her back over, and Irina glared daggers at Jack. Her earlier fears came back to her in a rush. Had he planned this all along? He looked so damn confident standing there.

Bastard. Look at me! She wanted to scream. Is this what you wanted? It's all so convenient, isn't it?

Her head hurt. Irina was grateful for the sensation; the rest of her body lay frozen, unresponsive. The uniformed guards swarmed around her like angry bees. Panic engulfed her, suffocating her with its weight. A guard reached down to grip her shoulder. His fingers bit into her flesh.

Jack's voice echoed in the vault, distorted and ominous. He barked instructions and the pale guards scurried in response to his commands. Irina was hauled onto her feet - the sudden motion causing her head to spin and her stomach to churn. They dropped her none-too-gently onto a steel chair and used it to carry her out of the vault and into the elevator. Irina's head lolled to the side and she made an involuntary gurgling sound.

"Stop," Jack said sharply. "Put her down." He bent over her again, this time capturing her chin with his hand, levelling his gaze at her. His eyes bored into hers, a silent interrogation. "This gas was more than a simple paralytic. Does it affect respiration?"

Another guard answered, but Irina only heard the sound of the man's voice, not his words, so intense was Jack's inspection. After a long minute Jack sniffed and turned away. Her head fell backwards and the guards picked her up again.

Irina's eyes narrowed. She was absurdly proud of herself when she managed a small hiss.

The ride to the upper level seemed excruciatingly long and dizzying. The elevator doors slid open, and she felt the guards lift her chair slightly as they exited. The world tilted sickeningly at the movement, and Irina fought not to retch.

The men carried Irina down the hall and into a small, stark interview room. Jack instructed four of the six men guard the vault elevator to prevent any further breaches. "Set her down there," he indicated the far corner of the room. As the extra men left, Jack asked the sergeant, "How long do the effects of the gas last?"

He shrugged. "An hour or two. It's a prototype. No one knows for certain."

Jack nodded and took a small notebook from his suit jacket pocket. He sat on the edge of the table and started jotting down notes. "Is there an antidote?" The guard shook his head.

They continued speaking, and Irina quickly lost the thread of the conversation. Her fingers were tingling, an uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation. After a moment, the feeling spread to her wrists. She could feel the cold metal of the handcuffs biting into her flesh. Gingerly, she flexed her hands. Irina's lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. The left cuff was loose. Whether it was because he didn't think she was a threat, or simple carelessness, she didn't know, and didn't care. The guard's mistake would serve her well.

Irina tensed, easing her left hand out of the restraints. The metal scraped painfully against her skin. A second later, though, pain was forgotten as triumph rushed through her. Surging to her feet, Irina whipped the cuffs across the sergeant's face. He reeled backwards, clutching his broken nose.

Out of the corner of her eye, Irina saw Jack advance towards her. Before he could stop her, she lurched forward, knocking the cane out of his hand. Irina aimed a short, sharp kick at his injured thigh, but her balance faltered and she missed. Her momentum carried them both to the floor.

Undaunted, Irina wrapped her hands around his throat and squeezed. "Traitor." The word was barely audible, a whisper, but venom dripped from her voice. He pulled at her arms, and fear sparked in his eyes. 

A pair of strong arms pulled Irina off of Jack. The remaining guard straddled her and struck her fully across the face. She gasped as her head hit the concrete. Irina grimaced and drew her legs up, shoving her attacker off of her. Before she could get to her feet, the guard was on top of her again. His fist struck her face and she tasted blood.

"Stop!" The guard dropped his final blow. Listlessly, Irina turned her head to see Jack pull himself up from the floor, pale-faced and breathing heavily. "That is an emotional reaction," he said crisply. "It will only distract from the objective." He straightened himself and leaned on his cane. "Have a seat, Rolf," he indicated the injured sergeant. "You," he addressed the other guard. "Cuff her wrists again,  
and her ankles. Now that the prototypical and highly ineffective paralytic gas has failed, we need to take her to corporate security. Can you carry her to my vehicle yourself? Good. Let's go."

The guard slung her over his shoulder, and Irina fought back another wave of nausea. The floors changed from concrete to carpet under her gaze as her captor followed Jack through the winding corridors of the bank. They reached the loading dock outside, and the surveillance van that Jack and Irina had acquired for the op. Jack opened the back doors of the van, and instructed the guard to set Irina down on the floor.

"Sir," the guard asked. "What kind of vehicle is this?"

Then she heard a thud and saw a blur of movement as the guard fell out of Irina's field of view. Jack slammed the van's back doors shut, and Irina's heart lurched. Where was he taking her? To a CIA facility? Or had he simply decided to kill her himself?

As the van started to move, Irina struggled to her knees. Whatever Jack had planned, she'd be damned if she'd face him bound and drugged into submission.

Some time later, the van pulled to a stop. Jack limped to the back and knelt over Irina. "While I appreciate your desire to add verisimilitude to the proceedings," he said as he unlocked her wrist and ankle cuffs. "That was not necessary."

Irina shook her head. "Not necessary?" She forced the words out between numb lips. "What is this, Jack? Why didn't you just shoot me? Or were you enjoying your little power trip back there?" 

The world was spinning again. She dragged a hand over her face. God, her head hurt. She leaned against the side of the van, suddenly tired. 

Jack frowned. "I see. I am willing to make allowances for drug-induced delirium," he said dryly. "So to put that entire episode into proper context: I was rescuing you by passing myself off as the vice-president of corporate security."

Irina rubbed her bruised wrists and grunted in response. She couldn't entirely believe him. Not yet. She slid out of the van and was grateful when he didn't try to stop her.

Irina braced herself against the bumper and sucked in great lungfuls of clean, crisp air. It cleared her head a bit, and she was able to focus her gaze on Jack.

"If that's the case, then what took you so long?" She winced at the raspy tone in her voice.

Jack's eyes narrowed and he regarded her intently. "There's something you need to see."

"Oh?" There it was again, the evasiveness she's sensed over the communications line. While Jack was no stranger to circumspection, this went a bit far, even for him. She crossed her arms. "Jack, I'm tired. My body feels like it's been through a meat grinder. If you're going to sit there and drop hints..."

"Just..." Jack appeared ready to explode with irritation. He visibly calmed himself down and continued evenly, "I have a freeze-frame photograph of the intruder who preceded you into the vault." Without further explanation, he turned his back on her and sat at the video console in the van.

Irina rubbed her temples wearily and pulled herself up into the van again. Leaning over Jack's shoulder, she studied the grainy photograph intently. Recognition dawned, and she gasped.

"Sydney?"

She lifted a hand to the monitor, fingertips grazing the image on the screen.

Jack watched her closely, his eyes taking in every minute expression on her face. Without moving his gaze from Irina, he said, "The resolution is poor, and the angle inconclusive. It could be anyone." 

Irina let her hand drop. "True. But Jack, if there's even a chance..." 

"Then you think...it could be her?" He asked, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

Irina let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She stared at the monitor for a long moment. The woman on the screen was in profile, her hair an ash-blond, rather than the natural dark brown. But the set of the jaw, the stance...Irina turned to him. "Rationally? I know you're right. The picture's inconclusive. But my instincts are telling me that that's Sydney. I don't know how, or why. But that is our daughter, Jack."

Jack finally tore his eyes from Irina and looked at the grainy image on the screen. At length he said, "I think so, too."


	9. Chapter 9

The Grand Hotel  
Stockholm, Sweden

Thirty hours later, Jack limped down the hallway and unlocked the hotel room door. He remained standing long enough to check the room for intruders, then collapsed onto an overstuffed chair and set his gun on the end table.

He didn’t know whether to be overwhelmed with hope or despair. The last day had passed in a whirlwind of combing the city and neighboring countryside for signs of Sydney. Nothing. Nothing but hope. But hope was far more than he had before.

They had been forced to call off the search. There was a point at which relentless activity turned into wasted effort, and both he and Irina were cognizant enough to realize that they had crossed that line many hours ago. But still, it was hard to pull away.

Exhausted, he sat for a half hour, maybe more, when the doorknob rattled as someone inserted a key. Jack picked up his gun and, too tired to move, simply pointed it at the doorway.

The door swung open and Irina stepped in. She glanced in Jack’s direction. Nodding at the gun, she said: "I hope you aren’t going to use that." Her words held no sting, merely a bone-deep weariness. She moved past him and entered the bathroom, leaving the door ajar.

Jack heard the water running in the sink. He sighed and heaved himself out of the chair, wincing as his injured leg protested. He ignored it, like he had the previous day. Leaning against the bathroom doorjamb, he watched in the mirror as she washed her face with tepid water.

He flipped on the lightswitch and saw the exhaustion in his own eyes mirror that in hers. He also saw the bruises from her fight with the bank guard darkening her cheek and brow. "You need ice for that."

Irina examined the damage to her face. One side was puffy. She probed the injury experimentally, and winced. "I look like hell. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?"

"I just did."

She snorted. "Thanks." Irina moved past him to the little complimentary refrigerator in their room. She pulled out an ice tray and piled individual cubes into a washcloth.

Jack shrugged and filled a glass with water before returning to the main room. He took a sip, then a long draught, draining it. "Have you eaten? I’ll order room service."

Irina followed him, the washcloth pressed to her face. "That’s a good idea." She settled onto the bed.

Jack sat heavily on his chair and picked up the phone. He called in, ordering several items before asking, "You want something to drink?"

"Burgundy. Red. A good one."

"Domaine Leroy Chambertin. Two glasses." Jack hung up and stripped off his tie, tossing it on the floor. He did the same for his now dirty and torn suit jacket. He sat quietly for a long time, staring blankly across the room.

A few moments of quiet passed, then Irina said: "Did you find anything? Some clue as to where she may have gone?"

"Nothing. And you?"

"The same. I’m beginning to think…" Irina bit her lip. "No. She was there. Sydney was there," she repeated firmly, almost to herself.

"She was there," Jack agreed. "And she’s gone. We have to devise a strategy for finding her again."

"Sydney may not want to be found, Jack. There must be a reason she decided to go underground." Irina pinched the bridge of her nose. "I swear to God, if the CIA is using my daughter as bait in some ill-advised scheme—"

"She doesn’t want to be found. She is either coerced to do this for some reason; or she is acting of her free will towards her own goal."

"And that goal includes deceiving her father. Ironic, is it not?"

"There’s no irony in it," Jack said sharply. The barb had stung, and he had nothing to respond with. "I don’t suppose she’s hunting for you?"

Irina laughed shortly. "I hardly think so. I’m sure I’m the last person Sydney wants to see right now."

Jack shrugged and silently wished room service would arrive and derail this conversation. "If Sydney stole the artifact from the bank, then the most efficient course of action for us would be to anticipate her next move. Probably another Rambaldi item. Do you know of any others?"

"Several. Unfortunately, not that many have been recovered. Those that have are in the possession of various collectors. Frankly, that’s not what’s worrying me."

Jack rested his head against the back of his chair. "You want to know why she is looking for Rambaldi items at all?"

"Not exactly. It’s no secret that everyone in the intelligence community wants a piece of the Rambaldi pie. No, what concerns me is that Sydney—or whomever she’s working for—felt that she needed to fake her death in order to get it. That sort of thing reeks of Black Ops. That’s usually your area of expertise."

Irina leaned forward, her gaze intense. "So, why were you cut out of the loop? Why didn’t Sydney attempt to contact you?"

Immeasurably weary, Jack replied, "I don’t know."

"I don’t either," she replied softly. "It’s not like Sydney to just drop out of sight." She took a deep breath. "I don’t think we can even say for certain that she’s working for the CIA. She may have been compromised."

"Sydney would never wilfully turn traitor. Or harm innocent people," Jack said forcefully.

"I know, Jack. She’s better than both of us, in that." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "No, what I’m saying is that we have to be prepared for the possibility that Sydney may have been"—she nearly choked on the word—"reprogrammed. Either by the CIA, or someone else. I hope to God that isn’t the case, but we need to consider it."

"Impossible."

She rubbed her temples and sighed. "Jack, her behavior’s so erratic…."

Agitated, Jack stood and began taking halting steps around the room. "Irina, my conclusion is not based on wishful thinking, it is based on fact. It is categorically impossible for Sydney to have been reprogrammed."

Her eyes narrowed as a sinking feeling grew in her stomach. "How do you know?"

"You are well aware."

Irina’s lips thinned. "Ah. A convenient side effect of Project Christmas, I take it?"

"Not a side effect. One of the four fundamental goals of the project. You already know this, of course, so I can only come to the conclusion that you are baiting me deliberately."

Irina’s hand tightened on the icepack. Her knuckles grew white. "Did you just have the gall to tell me that I should be grateful you brainwashed our daughter all those years ago? You arrogant bastard."

"Regardless." Jack’s eyes narrowed. "I did not brainwash her. I gave her the tools to protect herself, so that she could never be taken advantage of. I do not regret it. And if that is Sydney, and what she learned when she was six has kept her whole, then I’d say it was a damn good thing that I did it."

"Semantics, Jack. I know what Project Christmas was intended for, remember? America’s future soldiers. Russia’s too, once they had the prototype. If, as you say, Sydney can’t be brainwashed because of your little escapade into her mind, than that is fortunate. But that doesn’t change the fact that you had no right teaching a six year old child how to kill."

Jack bit back the response on the tip of his tongue. No, Project Christmas didn’t teach children how to kill directly. But indirectly… "You have no right --," he said forcefully. "No right to criticize my parenting. Whatever I may have done, or not done -- it was you who walked away from her."

"I know." Irina slumped slightly.

Her response threw Jack off-guard; he had been expecting further escalation. When it didn’t come, he took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. "The most productive course of action would be to anticipate Sydney’s next move."

"I agree. Odds are good that she’ll try for another Rambaldi artifact, soon. The problem is that I can think of at least six locations where an artifact is rumored to be held. Narrowing those possibilities down could take more time than we have."

Room service knocked on the door. The waiter wheeled in a tray and clearly wanted to lay out the food with proper ceremony, but Jack thrust a large bill in his hand and sent him away. Limping to the table, Jack popped the cork on the wine and poured two glasses.

"The better solution," Jack said. "Is to find out if any other Rambaldi items have been taken in equally… efficient operations. If we know what she’s done, then we may be able to predict her next target."

Irina took a sip out of the glass Jack handed her and let the wine flow down her throat. The taste was rich and a little heady. Putting the glass down, she said: "Now, that’s where we can benefit from a little back-channel manuevering. Sydney’s good, but she’s not particularly discreet. If all of her ops follow the same pattern as tonight’s, retracing her steps should be fairly easy. Unfortunately, if it’s easy for us, it might be easy for others." She frowned.

"True," Jack nodded. He swirled his wine in the glass before drinking. "We’ll have to be more efficient than the others." In spite of the exhaustion, the emotional toll of the last months, something inside of him was awake for the first time since he learned that Sydney had died. Was this alien sensation hope?

"However," he ventured. "Planning to ambush her during an op carries more risk than I’m willing to take. What if we secure our own artifact and use it as bait --"

Irina’s eyes lit up. "—and meet with Sydney in a controlled environment, a place and time of our choosing. Although," Irina tapped a fingernail on the service tray, deep in thought, "Whoever Sydney is working for might decide to send someone else to the exchange."

"It is possible," Jack said. "But their strategic pattern indicates that Sydney is in play when a high-value target is at stake. It’s worth the attempt."

Irina nodded. "I agree. We lose nothing by trying."

"And still maintain significant leverage," Jack agreed.

Irina looked over the choices laid out before her, and selected a dish of pasta with alfredo sauce and mushrooms. She dragged a chair over so she could sit across from Jack.

"Something about this bothers me." she said. "You say Sydney would never turn traitor, and I believe you. But you also claim that she can’t be brainwashed. Either she was coerced in some other way…" Irina flinched minutely at the possibility, "Or she’s been working for the CIA all along. If that’s the case, it’s obviously something they didn’t want you involved in. Neither scenario fills me with confidence."

"Nor I," Jack said darkly. He pulled a steak platter in front of him and began carving the meat with meticulous care. "If this is a CIA assignment, it was given by someone who knows that I would not have permitted it. I would have blocked the entire operation."

Irina gave a wintery smile. "I’m sure you would have."

Jack ate silently for several minutes. "We’ll find her," he said at length after finishing his steak and washing it down with a glass of wine. He poured himself another. "She’s not meant to lose herself. I won’t allow it."

"We will find her." Irina agreed softly. She gazed past his shoulder toward the hotel window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze. After a moment, her eyes refocused on Jack. "And God help whoever sent her on this mission."

"Yes," Jack agreed. He reached for a plate of cold cuts and cheese.

Irina finished the last of her pasta and pushed her plate aside. Taking another sip of wine, she said: "How’s your leg?"

Jack shrugged. "It’s fine. I ordered truffles, if you’re interested." He indicated a plate of fancy chocolates. It had been an impulse, because he knew they were favorites of hers. Or at least they had been favorites of Laura’s.

Irina raised an eyebrow, but obligingly took a truffle. "Mmm…these are good." She licked the excess chocolate from her fingers and wiped them on a napkin.

Jack watched her intently, and frowned at his involuntary response to her licking her fingers. Clearing this throat, he stood. "Our next move, then, is to determine Sydney’s pattern and anticipate it. It would be wise to get some rest."

Jack moved out from behind the service tray. As he did so, Irina caught a glimpse of the deep red stain soaking his pants leg. "Not until we get that taken care of," she replied sharply.

"It’s nothing," Jack said automatically. Then he looked down at his leg and saw the stain; the pain had been such a constant over the last days that he did not pay attention. His jaw set defiantly. "It’ll be fine."

"The hell it will. Sit down." Irina got up and pushed the tray aside. Kneeling in front of Jack, she tugged experimentally at the bloody fabric. Jack winced. "Wonderful. It’s already started to dry." Irina sat back on her heels. Gesturing to his leg, she said, "Do you want to do the honors, or should I?"

"I’ll do it," Jack grunted. The last thing he needed was for Irina… no, to be fair, the last thing he needed was for his leg to collapse on him. The coming days would require him to be mobile. He leaned back in the chair and loosened his belt. The wound had been seeping for some time, and the fabric of his slacks was firmly adhered to the wound. There was nothing for it—he pulled it away in one tug. He didn’t cry out, but sweat beaded on his forehead. He eyed Irina defiantly.

She said nothing, merely got to her feet and headed for the bathroom. She returned with a stack of white hotel courtesy towels and a bottle of antiseptic. Silently, she wetted a towel and wrapped it around Jack’s thigh. She didn’t look at his face, choosing instead to focus her efforts on stopping the flow of blood.

"You’ve ripped out the stitches." she said, disapproval coloring her tone.

"Apparently." Jack agreed. He was glad she wasn’t looking at him, he felt his face contort in pain as she worked. "I can’t afford for this to slow me down."

"It won’t," she said firmly. "If you take care of it." Irina fell silent and concentrated on bandaging the wound. "I’m going to leave this open for tonight. I don’t want to take the risk that it could get infected. Best to let the wound drain." She paused. "Thank you for coming back for me."

Jack froze. He had not expected gratitude. "You’re welcome," he said seriously. "I’m sorry it came to that. But my remote controls were not functioning. There was no other way. Are you all right? I know you took a beating."

Irina shrugged. "Most of the damage seems to be to my face, Nothing else seems to be bruised, fortunately. Except, perhaps, for my vanity." She smiled. Her injured cheek muscles pulled oddly at the corners of her mouth.

Jack almost smiled back at her; the self-disclosure prompting his … sympathy. "It’s temporary."

She waved a hand dismissively. "I know." Reaching up, Irina rubbed a hand along aching neck muscles. "I could really use a shower."

Jack nodded. "Me too. Why don’t you go ahead?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I’ll be in there for a while anyway."

She nodded. Pushing the service tray to the side, Irina moved toward the bathroom, grabbing a towel as she went.

Jack watched her disappear behind the door. He sat for a while, nibbling on the remaining food. His thoughts turned to Sydney—a living, vital Sydney he could find, if he only made the right choices, devised the correct strategies. Where was she now? What was she doing? Sharp pain returned when he realized that whatever it was, she had not told him. He perhaps deserved no more than that.

But if he took the time to consider, it laid bare a terrible pain. Sydney did not trust him, that she let him think she had died. He swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed the thoughts aside. He would not allow himself to wallow in self-pity. The current situation required action -- swift and decisive action. He did not want to think of any future beyond finding his daughter.

He stood with difficulty and picked up the clothes he had let fall. He made his way to his suitcase and pulled out clean underwear and his shaving kit. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested until he heard the water shut off.

The door opened and Irina stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her hair secured neatly by a second, smaller one. "Your turn," she said.

Jack simply nodded and limped into the bathroom. He sat on the toilet and pondered the problem of bathing without wetting his wound. He grabbed two of the large towels and sat on the edge of the tub then switched on the water and let it pool. It was awkward and slow, but after a while he was able to sponge himself down and turn his attention to his hair. Some time later, he emerged from the bathroom clean and shaven.

Irina was sitting on the edge of the bed, their laptop perched on the bedside table in front of her. She was starting intently at the screen. "Feel better?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jack replied. "Where’s your ice?" He hobbled to the opposite side of the bed.

"What?" She glanced up at him, momentarily confused. "Oh, I’d forgotten. I was just going over the video from the bank again."

"I understand the fascination," Jack said carefully. "But the best way to help Sydney right now is to get some rest. And by refilling your ice pack."

She sighed. "I know you’re right." Irina shut the computer down and walked into the kitchen. Behind her, she could hear Jack getting into bed. Irina opened up the washcloth and concentrated on lining up ice cubes inside of it. After a moment, she said, "Jack, why did you come after me?" Irina kept her back to him.

"Game theory." The words came out harsher than he intended, so he explained. "Cooperation is the most effective means of pursuing a goal. If I had tried to pursue Sydney, I would have lost both of you. Besides, we had an agreement."

Irina turned back toward the main room, makeshift icepack pressed to her cheek. "An agreement, yes." The words were hollow.

"I wasn’t going to abandon you."

"Why not?"

"It would have been counterproductive. And… unfaithful."

Irina’s eyebrows shot up. "Unfaithful? That’s an interesting term."

"It’s what one is when they enter into agreements falsely," Jack said acerbically.

"Thank you, oh Wise One, for enlightening me." She moved past him to the other side of the bed and sat down. "I must admit, I’m a little surprised you didn’t leave me behind. It would have been more convenient for you."

Jack ground his teeth and recalled that he had always hated it when she picked fights before bedtime. "No, for reasons I’ve already explained," he said pedantically.

"Ah. So, when Sydney is found, and our agreement is ended, you’ll turn me over to the CIA? Is that it?"

"That hadn’t been a part of my plan, no." Why was she pushing this? To get him to admit vulnerability, of course. Resigned, Jack pulled the blankets down on the bed.

"Interesting." Irina slid under the blankets, careful to keep a measure of space between them.

"Good night." Jack turned onto his side, away from her. Beside him, Irina did not move, but lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

In spite of his exhaustion, Jack remained tense for quite some time, but relaxed when he sensed her breathing deepen; and he fell asleep as well.

+++++++++++++++++

Ferry from Stockholm to Talinn

The large ferry swayed gently, and the ever-present rumble of the engines caused the floors, the tables to vibrate. Jack and Irina opted for a ferry rather than an airplane trip to the mainland, easier to move the more questionable gear they had collected across international borders.

Jack patiently scrolled through the gigabytes of data he had downloaded from the Covenant servers. He had already run several search algorithms of his own design and Marshall’s. But now, whether out of boredom or thoroughness, he was reading through the data that did not immediately trigger any recognition.

The large dining room was clearing out after dinner. Servers picked up errant plates and flatware, and all of the families with small children had left an hour or more ago. Jack sat in the far corner of the dining area, with his back to the wall and near a convenient power plug, which the laptop was tapped into.

Irina sat across from him, a cold cup of coffee in front of her. "Find anything interesting?" she asked.

Jack shook his head and drained the last of his coffee. "Tedious. But necessary."

Irina grunted in agreement. "I’m going to get another coffee. Do you want one?"

"Yeah, thanks," Jack said, mildly surprised. His eyes met hers briefly before focusing on the screen again.

Irina signalled for the waiter. "Two more coffees, please. Black." After the man had left, Irina continued. "There may be nothing else there, Jack. The chemical plant was only one operation, after all. It would be foolish to keep all of their data in one place."

"It’s possible," Jack conceded. "But as we have seventeen hours of dead-time, it would be productive to be certain we’ve extracted all relevant information from the data dump."

The waiter returned with their drinks and set them on the table before disappearing again.  
.  
Jack took his coffee and sipped it, noting that Irina had remembered that he took his black at all times of day. They read in quiet companionship for some time, until Jack caught himself scanning the same document for the third time. "Irina?"

"Hmmm?" She glanced up at him from the papers spread out on her side of the table—copies of a Rambaldi text she’d recently acquired in Morocco.

"Take a look at this." He turned the laptop around so that she could see the screen.

She peered at the paragraphs of green text scrolling across the screen. There was something… "This isn’t part of the original program, is it? It’s excess coding," She said.

Jack watched her as she read, the faint light from the computer screen reflected in her eyes. He set his elbows on the table and took a sip of coffee. "And?"

Irina’s gaze swept quickly over the lines of text. It seemed to be no more than jibberish, and yet…she bit her lip.

There was a pattern. A series of characters buried in the data. She did some quick calculations, then sat back. A satisfied smile spread across her face. "It’s a cipher. A very old one. Very few people use it. In fact, the only people I know who do are members of the Guild of Orvieto."

"A criminal organization?" Jack put his mug down.

"Not exactly. It’s a very old order. More religious than political. They see themselves as the guardians of Rambaldi’s vision. I’m sure you’ve seen their symbol." Picking up a pen, Irina reached for a napkin and drew an image on it quickly. She pushed it toward Jack.

"The eye," Jack said quietly. "Are they aligned with the Covenant?"

Irina shook her head. "No. They are free agents, as far as I know. The Guild has never been interested in what they’d consider ‘mundane’ concerns. They seek knowledge for knowledge’s sake. Something like the Covenant would be anathema to them."

Jack frowned. "Are you aligned with this order?"

"No. Oh, I considered joining when I first learned of Rambaldi. But, the life of the faithful has never really appealed."

"I see," Jack said dryly.

Irina cocked her head to the side inquisitively. "Do you?" She waved the question away. "In any case, it appears that the venerated Guild has a mole. This is a communique between the mole and a Covenant operative, detailing a possible Rambaldi target."

"That I do understand. Considerably more… concrete than metaphysics. What is your analysis?"

"We may have found our leverage." She tapped the screen with a finger. "It says here that the Guild has discovered another artifact, a cylinder they call ‘the Gateway’. They plan to transport it to a secure location via train in two days time."

"Do we have specifics? Can we intercept it?"

"It will be tricky, but I believe we can. The mole claims that six couriers will board the midday train from Amsterdam to Prague, The artifact will be contained in a bag which will be passed from one courier to another during transit, as a precaution."

"And since this information is from a Covenant computer—" Jack began.

"—We have to assume they have a plan to intercept it."

Jack read through the information again. "The Guild’s plan is to change couriers at the station in Prague, and then take the artifact to a bank safe deposit box. It is at its most vulnerable at this point."

"Which means," Irina said. "We have to strike earlier."

"Have you ever robbed a train before?"

Her grin was feral. "No. It should be an exhilarating experience."

Jack returned her grin and took another swig of coffee.


	10. Chapter 10

The old man leaned on the conductor's arm to board the train. Hunched, gray and wizened, he shuffled into the carriage, his cane clicking against the floor of the car. He fumbled with his ticket and asked a young woman for help in identifying his seat. She brushed him off, but the security guard took pity on the man and guided him to a seat at the front of the car. He sat heavily and sighed.

The train pulled away from the station. The old man dozed off, lulled by the rattle and puff of the engine. He snored lightly.

A few stations down the line, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, a violent cough shook his frame and the man pressed a handkerchief to his mouth.

The passenger behind him laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sir, are you all right?"

He nodded. "My bad heart." He thumped his chest, sending him into another coughing fit. "It'll be all right in a moment."

The coughing subsided and the man settled in again. A quarter hour later, his cell phone rang. He was startled, and fumbled with it, the high tech phone looking awkward in his hands. "Hallo? Hallo?" he shouted into the phone, then cursed when the line went dead.

Shortly thereafter, he stood and shuffled into the restroom.

++++++++++++++++

Jack removed his plaid felt fedora and pulled out his phone. He uploaded the picture he had just taken: two men in the aisle, one handing a briefcase to the other. A moment later, Irina's voice came over the line. "I've got it. See you in thirty minutes." The connection went silent.

Jack splashed water on his face and replaced his hat, slipping back into his persona. He checked himself in the lavatory mirror before stepping back into the passenger area.

Settling into his seat, he turned to the young woman beside him and struck up a trivial conversation with her. The moment she expressed interest, he pulled out his wallet and showed her a dozen pictures of small children. "My grandchildren," he beamed with pride. For the next twenty minutes, he nattered on about the grandchildren, his late wife, and his weak heart; pulling bystanders into the conversation.

++++++++++++++++

Irina squinted against the harsh rays of the afternoon sun. Luckily, her current outfit--a pale blue skirt and cotton blouse—was comfortable, if plain. Thirty minutes until the train arrived. Enough time to take care of a few details.

Irina moved down the dusty sidewalk, pausing every so often to peer casually inside shop windows. Satisfied that she wasn't being watched, Irina continued to the shop she wanted--a mom and pop affair specializing in leather goods.

She stepped inside and was grateful for the light breeze that greeted her. Irina scanned the room, noting the variety of belts, bags, and jackets that lined the walls. A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead.

At the sound of the bell, a young woman looked up from behind the counter and gave Irina a warm smile. "May I help you?"

"Just looking, thank you," Irina replied

"Let me know if you need anything." The woman went back to counting inventory.

Irina moved toward the selection of bags, passing by the purses and handbags for the larger, sturdier pieces. After a few minutes, her gaze landed on a plain black briefcase. It wasn't exactly like the one in the pictures Jack had sent her, but it was the closest she was going to get. *Hopefully*, she thought, *with a few touch-ups, no one will know the difference.* It wouldn't pass a close inspection, but Irina didn't intend to let anyone have the chance.

She took the bag off the rack and headed toward the cash register.

++++++++++++++++++

"Oh sir, your grandchildren are very lovely. But I am afraid I must sleep." The young woman yawned dramatically. "I am very tired."

"Yes, yes, sleep well, child," Jack encouraged. When her eyes closed and she feigned sleep, Jack rested his head against the back of his seat and pulled his hat low over his eyes.

The train rolled on for a few more minutes, and then pulled into the next station. From the corner of his eye, Jack watched the new passengers board. Among them was a pretty middle-aged woman, her clothing and demeanor suggestive of the rural countryside.

Once inside the train, she pushed away a stray lock of hair from her face and looked around the car. She briefly met his eye, then picked up her satchel and took a seat at the front of the car.

The train rolled on, and the landscape changed from city to town to hills and forest. Jack checked his watch and prepared himself for the next phase. He reached into his pocket for a second handkerchief, identical to the first, but prepared with pale makeup. He coughed again, this time lightly smearing the makeup on his face.

He coughed again, sputtered and leaned forward in his seat. The woman beside him stirred and placed a hand on his back. "Are you all right, sir?"

Jack nodded and reached into his breast pocket for a bottle of medication. He coughed again, then gasped and rubbed his chest. An elderly woman from the seat in front of him looked back, concern on her face. "He needs water," she said.

A college student pushed a glass of water into Jack's hands. He smiled and nodded in thanks and struggled with the cap on his bottle of pills. The young man gently took it from him and dropped two pills into his outstretched palm. Jack swallowed the two pills and relaxed.

Minutes ticked by. Jack resumed coughing, but waved off the concern of his fellow passengers. "I just need a moment for my medicine to work," he said as he loosened his collar.

Feigning infirmity, Jack surreptitiously monitored the activities of the Guild men in the car. He knew the transfer - the one opportunity they had to capture the artifact - was rapidly approaching. A courier he had not previously seen entered the front of the carriage, and the man with the black case stood. They waited a moment, assessing their fellow passengers,looking for threats. Satisfied, they walked towards one another to make the exchange.

Jack moaned and, a split-second before they met, cried out and collapsed onto the floor, clutching his chest.

The train erupted into chaos. People surged to their feet, voices raised in alarm. Passengers pushed their way forward, offering advice, cold cloths, and home-made remedies.

Irina gripped the black briefcase she had bought earlier, and stepped out into the aisle. She was immediately pushed forward by the crowd. Rather than fight against the momentum, she let it carry her right into the courier and the satchel he held.

She cried out at the impact and dropped her bag. "I'm sorry!" She gasped. She edged her way past the courier, grabbing his briefcase as she did so. It took barely a moment, and the man did not notice the switch.

Using the crush of people to her advantage, Irina kept moving, making her way into an adjoining car.

The purser burst into the car and stood over Jack. "What is going on here?" he demanded. He was bombarded with explanations, ranging from epilepsy to a heart attack. The man paled and knelt beside Jack, taking his hand. "Sir, Sir, are you all right?"

Jack moaned. "Help me, please. My heart."

The purser rushed to the emergency phone at the back of the car and spoke furiously to the engineer. When he returned, he brought a first aid kit and told the passengers, "We will stop at the next station. An ambulance will meet us."

The train rattled on through the hilly countryside. The car went dark as it passed through a tunnel. People and furnishings threw only dim shadows in the dark. As they emerged on the other side, the train shuddered as it jolted past a set of rough points. Drinks on trays spilled over, and people grasped their luggage to keep it from falling into the aisle. The leather attache case sitting on the courier's lap fell forward, launching greeting cards and crochet placemats onto the floor. The courier looked at his partner, and both men turned pale.

The two stood up quickly, dumping the rest of the useless trinkets onto the floor. The Guild operative called into his radio sharply, summoning his backup. The two additional operatives in the car also stood. The attention of all four men fixated upon Jack, lying on the floor, his shirt open, surrounded by good samaritans.

The men converged on Jack. Bystanders were roughly pushed aside, and they protested until an operative pulled out a gun and waved it threateningly. The second pair of Guild members grabbed Jack and hauled him to his feet, then slammed him against the wall of the car. Sill feigning infirmity, he cried out and allowed himself to sink to the floor.

The train increased speed, the hum of the engines taking on a higher, insistent tone.

++++++++++++++++++

In the next car, Irina felt the train speed up. Frowning, she glanced behind her. Two rows to her left, she identified another operative. He stood abruptly and reached inside his jacket.

Irina's eyes widened and she darted out into the aisle, intending to disarm him. Suddenly, the door to the car slammed open, and people streamed in, babbling in fear.

Irina's gaze snapped to the open door. It wasn't much of a distraction, but it was enough. The guard squeezed off a few shots into the mob. Passengers fell, screaming.

Irina dropped instinctively to the ground. Bullets whizzed by her head as she crawled toward the guard. There were too many people, too many legs and feet and too much movement. She didn't dare try to shoot the man, not in such chaos. *Bring him down first, then get the gun*.

She was three feet from her target. Two. Irina's progress was achingly slow. And then suddenly, she was *there*. She surged up out of the crowd and grabbed the guard's gun hand, shoving him backwards as she did so. Surprised, he let the weapon drop. Irina elbowed him in the face and he sagged against the wall, blood dripping from his nose.

Spinning away from him, Irina frantically searched for the guard's weapon. She saw it a few steps away; partially hidden under a seat. She grabbed it, and turned her attention to the milling passengers.

"Listen to me, everyone!" She called out over the din. "Everything is going to be fine. You must stay calm. Tend to the wounded as best you can, and do not leave this compartment."

Several people backed away from her nervously. Mercifully, the shouting and wailing had given way to uneasy whispers.

Someone cleared her throat, and Irina's gaze flashed to an old woman near the front of the crowd. Irina recognized her instantly as one of the passengers who had been sitting near Jack when he'd collapsed. Irina nodded to her.

"Ma'am...uh..." The woman glanced nervously to the gun in Irina's hand. "I think they're going to kill the old man. One of them said something earlier..."

Irina's stomach clenched. Ignoring the woman, she strode forward and peered out of the doorway.

One of the operatives had hauled Jack to his feet and shoved him against the wall. The man had the muzzle of his pistol pressed against the base of Jack's throat. Three more operatives surrounded him. Irina bit her lip. Sweat beaded on her brow. She had one shot at this, and it wasn't a good one. Yet, she had no choice.

Grimly, Irina raised her gun.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jack was slammed against the wall of the railcar. "Where is it," the courier demanded. A second man punched Jack in the stomach, and he doubled over, his breath forced out of his lungs.

As he panted against the pain, the third man added harshly, "You're quite a strapping fellow for an old man with a weak heart." Rough hands pulled Jack upright, then slammed his head against the wall again. He blinked as cold gun metal pressed under his chin.

Jack quickly calculated the odds: four assailants, all armed; himself wounded and at a physical disadvantage. He knew that he was one false move from failure. He silently hoped for Irina, or failing that, some kind of opening.

A shot rang out, and the guard furthest from him dropped to the floor. In that split-second of confusion, Jack seized his opportunity and grabbed the hand holding the gun at his throat. He twisted the arm, and the man spun just far enough for Jack to latch onto his head and twist. A sickening crack, and he sagged in Jack's arms.

The confusion didn't last long, and the original courier levelled his gun at Jack. There was nowhere to run, no possible cover. But Jack had retained control of the dead man's hand, and used the gun to squeeze off three neat shots that hit the courier in the chest.

And then Jack was staring down the barrel of another gun, and there was nothing to do, and no time to react.

Four more shots rang out, and the shooter dropped to the floor. Behind him stood Irina, her own gun levelled at Jack, smoke wafting from the barrel. Her hair was wild, her face grim, and she was a welcome sight. He sighed in relief.

"Thanks," he said raggedly.

She nodded sharply.

"That's four. How many more?"

"One more." She replied. "I'd take a guess and say he's in the engine. He must have taken control of the train when the hand off failed. We're going too fast," Irina said grimly, and glanced at Jack's leg. "We can't jump off at this speed."

"No." He bent to retrieve the guns from the couriers; kept two and tossed two to Irina.

Irina stuck the first handgun in the waistband of her skirt and caught the second. She glanced behind her one last time. "Clear."

"I'd offer to go first," Jack said apologetically. "But I'm not particularly mobile."

Irina nodded again, then handed Jack the briefcase and he slung it over his shoulder.

Moving towards the front of the train, Irina edged toward the next car peered through the window. Passengers were huddled in their seats. Some were crying. Others just sat there, stunned. Irina pulled the door open, ignoring the gasps of the people within.

Toward the back of the car, a body lay face down on the floor. Irina strode forward, Jack close behind her. Reaching the man, she knelt and gently turned him over. "Railway police." she said shortly. Rising, she wiped her hands on her skirt.

Jack nodded grimly. The train was careening out of control, and the panic of the passengers was palpable. Terrified faces looked up at him, taking in the blood on his clothes, the gun in his hand. He swallowed and said, "We're going to stop the train. Brace yourselves."

"Lock the door behind us," Irina met Jack's eyes. They both knew that a locked door would be nothing next to an armed assault. But a lie was better than nothing. "And stay down. This will be over soon."

She and Jack made their way to the next car, and the next, telling everyone to stay down; keep quiet. At last they reached the lead car, just behind the engine.

Irina made short work of the lock, and opened the door. The wind and its deafening noise burst into the car. Jack grabbed hold of the doorway. The countryside sped by in a blur, and the train shook in protest. Irina grabbed hold of the railing with one hand, the other gripped her weapon tightly. With a smooth motion, she hauled herself from the lead car to the engine. Jack followed her, with considerably less grace.

It was too loud for words to carry, so they resorted to hand signals. Jack motioned for Irina to move along the other side of the engine. When she was in place, he took a single aimed shot at the corner of the cab. It ricocheted and put a crack in the glass.

The hijacker immediately responded by retuning fire. Bullets struck the side of the engine, and Jack retreated, using the corner of the engine for cover. He kept up a steady pace of firing, keeping the man occupied.

With his right hand, he motioned for Irina to advance.

Irina slid along the opposite side of the engine. She clung to the guardrail as the wind whipped by. She noted with satisfaction that the hijacker had his attention focused solely on Jack. she moved a few more feet forward, and slid her gun out of her waistband.

The train screeched past a switching station, and it jerked dangerously. Irina swore.

*Just a little longer, Jack. Keep him occupied just a little longer.* She reached toward the door of the cab with her free hand. Jerking the door open, Irina fired two shots in rapid succession. The man screamed as she swung up into the engine room.

He was still alive. The hijacker clutched at his side, blood dripping through his fingers. He brought his gun up to fire.

Irina put him down before he had a chance to get off a single shot. He fell back against the opposing door, his eyes glazed in death.

Irina stepped fully into the cab. Pushing the hijacker's body aside, she flashed Jack the `all clear' signal. When he joined her, she said, "We need to change tracks, here. " She tapped the GPS monitor nestled within the controls. "But at this speed, we'll either overshoot it or jump the track entirely."

Jack nodded and said, "We need to stop the train anyway." He took the engineer's position and pulled back the throttle to decelerate the train.

The train did not slow.

Jack exchanged a brief, surprised glance with Irina. "He must have sabotaged it," Jack said as his mind raced, recalling everything he knew about diesel engines. "I'll shut off the fuel pump, you get the emergency brakes."

She nodded and headed back out onto the running boards. Irina circled around behind the engine. There were two metal hand brakes, and both were easily half her height. Mercifully, they hadn't been tampered with. Irina pulled the brakes toward her, and heard them squeal as they fought against the train's momentum.

Jack pulled a multi-tool from his pocket and prised open the main circuitboard. He noted, with considerable chagrin, that the wires had been melded together. The switches were useless.

He heard the squeal of the emergency brakes. The train slowed marginally, but the brakes and the engine were fighting each other.

Looking around the small cab, he found the engineer's safety manual, and rapidly flipped through the pages. It was in Czech, and difficult to work out, but he found what he was looking for: the schematics of the electrical system. The access panel was in the back of the cab, and he knelt to work on the screws.

The door opened suddenly, admitting Irina and a blast of cold air. "What's happening?" she asked. She pulled the door shut behind her and moved up beside him. Irina surveyed the mess of wires critically.

Not missing a beat, Jack slid the access panel aside and configured his tool into wireclippers. "I'm going to cut power to the fuel pump -- watch the readout and tell me when I get the right wire." He maneuvered onto his back and slid into the cubbyhole.

Irina kept her eyes glued to the screen as Jack began clipping wires. "Not...no! Not that one."

On his back in the confined space, Jack traced wire after wire—the greatest danger was shutting off the power to the brakes. In the compartment, adjacent to the turbines, the vibrations from the straining engines made his teeth rattle. He clipped one more wire, and Irina replied in the negative.

The train charged into a tunnel; darkness fell and the noise reverberated in the enclosed space.

When they emerged again, Jack found another wire and cut it.

"That's it." Irina's tone was sharp with relief. The train began to slow. She glanced over at the GPS monitor.

"Jack, we'd better find something to hold on to. There's a bridge up ahead."

Irina headed toward the back of the cab and sat down on the floor. She braced herself against the wall.

Jack didn't have time to emerge from the access tunnel, he braced his hands against the hot steel stanchions surrounding him. The squeal of the brakes, combined with the now-sputtering engines rang in his ears.

The train was slowing, but not quickly enough. He could hear and feel the train reach the bridge. The vibrations became unbearable, and he was shaken like a rag doll; his wounded leg jammed against a steel strut.

Just when it seemed as if the whole train would fall off the trestle, it finally ground to a halt.

Irina rose shakily from the floor. She heard the hiss of the engine venting steam, beyond that, there was complete silence. She moved to help Jack.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Jack said automatically, ignoring the jolt of pain through his leg and the bump on the back of his head. He emerged from the access tunnel and stood shakily. "You okay?"

She nodded. Irina could feel a new set of bruises starting on her skin already, but they were inconsequential. "We have to get out of here. We don't have much time before someone decides to investigate. Can you walk?" Irina looked him over critically.

"Yeah." Jack ran a hand through his hair. He took a look at the GPS unit, then reached into his pocket for a compass. He compared readings and turned to Irina. "I think we should head for Prague; it's approximately twenty miles from here, but offers the best opportunity to blend in and disappear."

She glanced at his leg again. Jack was favoring it, she could tell. Twenty miles...But they had no choice, and she wouldn't leave him behind.

"All right." Irina moved to the door of the cab and peered outside. Passengers had disembarked and were milling around beside the tracks. Cracking the door open, Irina slipped down onto the running boards. She turned toward Jack, her hand outstretched. "Give me the case."

Jack hesitated only a moment, then handed her the briefcase and allowed her to assist him out of the train and onto the trestle. They walked along a narrow support strut to the other side of the river. He looked anxiously behind him, but no passengers had followed. They ducked into the thickly-wooded area and began their long march.


	11. Chapter 11

Countryside of Stredocesky Kraj  
Czech Republic

 

Dusk settled onto the forest stand, but the only thing Jack was aware of was the jolt of pain that shot up his leg with every step. He could see Irina in the half-light, leading the way. He was glad that she was, because he knew he was in no condition to navigate.

It had gone on for hours, one foot in front of the other. Long experience had taught him to push the pain aside, ignore it. But there came a time when he could no longer disassociate himself from it. Pride kept him going, though as time wore on he knew he was slowing her down. And pride would eventually fail.

Up ahead, Irina disappeared from view. Jack blinked, though the dim light conspired with his fatigue to blur his vision. Bemused, he continued to plod along, barely registering her absence.

A minute later, Irina came into his field of vision and strode confidently toward him. When they met, he stopped and waited silently for her explanation.

"There’s a farm up ahead. It looks like they have a barn or a loft of some kind. I think we should stop. I don’t want to risk wandering around in the dark. Can you make it?" She asked.

Jack nodded, then moved to step forward, but found his leg wouldn’t support his weight. He caught himself, but his good leg shook with the exertion. He was at a crossroads; the exhaustion was overwhelming him. With effort, he swallowed his pride and ground out, "I… could use some help."

Irina nodded, and was immediately at his side. She ducked under his arm so it lay across her shoulders. She then placed her own arm across his back. "All right?" she asked. When he nodded, they moved forward slowly, each step seeming like it took an eternity. After a few feet, Irina stopped. "I can’t help you if you won’t lean on me," she snapped. "Relax."

There was no alternative, Jack knew. So he let out a shuddering breath and leaned into her as she led them across the fields and into the barn. Once they stopped, he allowed himself to crumple onto a pile of hay. He arched his back and rolled over, his face contorted with pain. "You should go ahead," he said once he caught his breath.

Irina shook her head. "Not until I’ve made sure you’re all right. Let me check your leg."

Jack didn’t argue, simply fumbled with the buckle of his belt and allowed her to pull his pants down to examine the wound. He felt ridiculous, but the pain and the urgency of the mission trumped his discomfort. "I’m only slowing you down. It is imperative that you secure the package."

For a moment, he reflected on the additional absurdity of him handing a Rambaldi artifact over to Irina Derevko.

He felt her cool fingers probe the wound on his leg. A faint frown marred Irina’s features but she said nothing. Returning her attention to Jack, she said. "Leave it as is. The wound needs to air out." She rose to her feet.

"If I’m right, we’re about ten miles from Beraun. I have an acquaintance there who might be able to help us. If I move quickly, I can make it there by dawn."

"Agreed," Jack said. He sighed and looked up to the worn wooden rafters of the barn. He briefly reflected on letting her go with the artifact; but the only logical course of action was for her to take it with her. "There’s no question that our adventure on the train spawned a manhunt. If this farm is inside the police search perimeter," Jack said in measured tones. "Then don’t come back."

Irina nodded. "Understood." She headed toward the door. "Try to get some rest. I’ll be back by morning."

"For Sydney," Jack said. "It’s for Sydney." He wasn’t sure if he were reminding her or himself; but he felt the need to speak their daughter’s name. To seal the agreement, to remind Irina what they were fighting for. In the end, he had to trust in Irina’s love for Sydney to carry through the mission.

He closed his eyes and surrendered to the exhaustion and pain.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++  
Beraun  
Czech Republic

Nela balanced a full platter of food and precariously walked to a table in the center of the room. There were four teens and six adults, and she was glad to have at last been able to deliver their dinner. After distributing the plates, she took a moment and leaned against the corner wall to relieve her aching feet. She needed a cigarette, but given how busy the place was tonight, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. The hijacked train story had created a hum of excitement  
throughout the countryside, and everyone, it seemed, had wanted to come to the tavern and talk about it.

The door opened, admitting a blast of cool night air and a new patron. The woman was shabbily dressed in a skirt and peasant blouse, but there was something in her demeanor that made Nela pause. The newcomer seated herself at a rickety table in the corner. Nela grabbed a menu and headed in her direction. "Good evening, Madame.May I get you something to drink?"

The woman smiled politely. "Moskovskaya. Straight up."

"Of course," Nela said. The woman was middle aged, pretty, and otherwise unremarkable. But she was a stranger, and her clothes were well-made, but wrinkled and worn. The hairs on the back of Nela’s neck stood straight up. This was one for the old man, she thought. "Would you like a menu?"

"Yes, thank you. It looks like you have a full house tonight," the stranger commented. Nela handed her the menu and said, "Yes, it’s all the excitement over the train. Everyone wants to talk about it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Quite the event, I take it?"

"Yes," Nela agreed. "Terrorists, in our countryside. Who would have believed it? And they are still looking for four of them."

"Well, I certainly hope the authorities find those responsible."

Nela nodded, "I do, too. But we cannot worry too much. Let me get your drink."

Nela turned away and headed towards the bar. The old man was there, pouring drinks. "Moskovskaya." she said curtly. "Straight up."

The proprietor’s head snapped up. His gaze travelled to just beyond Nela’s shoulder to where the new arrival sat, absorbed in her menu. He grunted and turned to get a fresh glass. A moment later, he handed the full glass to Nela, along with a napkin. Before she could leave, he stopped her.

"How long?" he asked.

Nela shrugged. "No more than five minutes."

He nodded again, and Nela left. She walked slowly back to the table, the old man had filled the glass to the brim and a few drops trickled down onto the napkin. She set it in front of the woman. "Are you ready to order, Madame?"

"Yes. I think I’ll have the potato soup." The woman took a sip of her drink. She gave Nela a slight nod of appreciation. "Thank you."

Nela smiled, "That’s the proprietor’s speciality. He tends to the soup all day long, I’m sure you’ll like it." She took the menu and when she returned a few minutes later, she brought a generous bowl of soup with a side of dark bread and huge slab of butter. "Enjoy."

Irina leaned back in her chair and inhaled the rich scent of the soup. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in over forty-eight hours. She dipped her spoon into the bowl, a twinge of guilt running through her as she imagined Jack waiting alone in the barn. 

*Well, nothing can be done about it at the moment.* she thought. She glanced up from her meal to see that the bartender had disappeared. Irina checked her watch. *Perhaps an hour more.* 

Time flowed by as she watched the tavern’s patrons come and go. Her old friend had done well for himself here. The place had a lived-in feel that she liked. And yet, despite his advanced age, Gregor seemed as sharp as ever.

The shadows deepened and the last stragglers trickled out. Irina rose and followed them, but detached from the group to head around the back of the building.

"You’re late." Gregor’s voice floated toward her out of the darkness.

Irina squinted and was able to make out the orange glow of a lit cigar. She followed the light to its origin and found Gregor leaning against an old fence."I’ve been waiting here for hours."

Irina grinned. "You exaggerate." She stepped forward and embraced him. "It’s good to see you, old friend."

Gregor hugged her back. "It is good to see you as well, Ira. I would ask how you are doing, but I think the answer is obvious, no?" He pulled away, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"You worry too much."

Gregor snorted. "You come to me looking like this, in beggar’s clothes, with five layers of dust on you, and you tell me not to worry. Who is the teacher, and who is the student, here, eh?"

Irina shook her head, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. "There’s no use arguing with you, is there? We are in a bit of trouble at the moment."

Gregor’s expression didn’t change. He merely puffed on his cigar a few times. Irina had the strangest feeling that she was back in the sparring ring with him. He was looking at her now as he might have then, as someone who’s weaknesses were all too obvious.

"We. Who is this ‘we’?" he asked finally.

"A friend." She didn’t flinch.

Gregor removed the cigar from his mouth and exhaled heavily. "Oh, Irina. Not again."

"This is not Kashmir," she replied tightly.

He dropped his cigar to the ground and ground it into the dirt. "No. But he is still dangerous for you."

"We are not discussing this. If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else who can."

Gregor waved away her comment. "Don’t be dense, Ira. You know I will help you. You would not have come here, otherwise."

He moved past her, toward the back door of the tavern. "Besides, who knows what kind of foolishness you will get yourself into?" Gregor heaved open the door and tromped inside, muttering about wayward students and idiot Americans.

Irina pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. *Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea*, she thought. *I feel a headache coming on.*

Wearily, she followed her old friend back inside the tavern.


	12. Chapter 12

Farm near Baroun  
Czech Republic

Hidden in a hay bale, Jack slept fitfully. The scratchy substance poked through his clothes and worked its way into his shoes. But still, it was warm and relatively soft. With nothing else to do, and nowhere to go, he dozed for hours. Gradually, the throbbing ache of his leg rescinded and he felt better. Lack of food was another matter, but he at least found water in the trough, which he shared with an aloof sheep who eyed him with distrust.

A rooster crowed in the adjacent hen house, and Jack blinked awake. The first rays of light could be seen in the gaps between the wood panels of the barn. He began to debate waiting for Irina (who might well not come at all) and moving on.

Minutes later, his internal debate became moot. He tensed when he heard footsteps crunching in the gravel outside, and then the barn door creaked.

There was the shuffle of feet and whispered conversation. And then, cautiously: "Jack?"

The voice was Irina’s, but there were two distinct sets of footsteps in the barn. Jack remained still—gathered himself up to strike, or run.

"Jack, I know you’re here." Her tone was all business. "I’ve brought help." A spate of muttered Russian could be heard from Irina’s companion.

Jack assessed the situation. Her companion was male; and though his words were inaudible, the timbre in his voice and the gutturals sounded Slavic. He did not move.

The man spoke up. "I think your bird has flown the coop, Ira."

"No. He’s here. See that?" There was movement and the rustle of hay. And then: "Am I going to have to dig through this entire haystack to find you? Of course, if you’d rather I leave…"

Jack gritted his teeth. With that tone of voice, she was practically challenging him to ignore her. But a rational voice in his mind reminded him that if she had meant to betray him, she wouldn’t have returned, particularly after he had given her the artifact.

He raised his arms to dig himself out of the haystack. Finally, he emerged into the dim light, brushing hay off his clothes. He saw Irina and her companion – a solidly-built elderly man. Judging by the expression on her face, Irina was more than mildly amused at his predicament. He summoned up what dignity he could; and glared at her.

"Effective," she said. Her lips twitched. "You might want to make your haystacks a little less precise next time, though."

"Noted," Jack said curtly. He ran a hand through his hair to loosen any stray twigs that had taken roost. He also brushed down his clothing, which was still the elderly man disguise he had worn on the train the day before. His leg was holding up satisfactorily, he was able to stand unaided now that he had rested. He fixed a bland expression on his face and eyed the man standing next to Irina.

The older man glanced at Jack. Disdain was clear on his face. Turning to Irina, he said: "So, this is the American?" He shook his head. "We will see how much he is worth, da?" 

Jack’s eyes narrowed. The accent, the manner—the man was Russian. His use of ‘Ira’ indicated familiarity. Probably a KGB contact. Lovely. Ignoring the challenge, he turned to Irina, "Where is the artifact?"

Irina gestured to the bag looped over her neck. "In here. It’s been with me the entire time." She gestured toward the man standing beside her. "This is Gregor Rudenko. He’s an…old friend. He’s agreed to help us. Gregor, this is Jack."

Jack met the older man’s eye, and nodded with practiced formality, then turned to Irina. "Thank you for returning. Do you have transportation?"

"I brought a Jeep." Gregor said. "It is hidden in some brush by the side of the road." The Russian gestured at Jack’s injured leg. "Can you make it?" He asked curtly.

"Yes," Jack said crisply, and to prove the point, he began walking to the barn door, without aid of the cane he still carried in his right hand. The pain manifested again, though less than the day before, but he did not allow himself to limp.

Irina caught up to Jack and pushed the door open for him. "I’m sorry about that," she said quietly. "Diplomacy was never Gregor’s strong suit."

Looking straight ahead, Jack said, "If he can provide transportation, then I’m not concerned with his social skills."

Jack continued walking the distance to the jeep. The terrain was rough and he nearly tripped on a gnarled tree root. He was glad Irina didn’t try to help him, he didn’t want the KGB man to see his weakness, if at all possible. They followed a drainage ditch for a hundred feet, and Irina guided him up an embankment, and into a copse of trees where the vehicle had been hidden.

"What is our destination?" he asked Irina.

"Gregor runs an inn in the next town. It’s a few miles from here. We can eat and rest there, and head into Prague in the morning."

Jack nodded curtly, and grabbed hold of the jeep roll bar and hauled himself into the back seat. "We’ll need new disguises."

Irina settled herself beside Jack as Gregor got into the driver’s side of the Jeep. "You can borrow clothes from me," he said. "And there is a little shop down the street from the inn. Anything else you need can be purchased there."

"Thank you," Jack said, though his abrupt tone belied the gratitude of his words. "That will be sufficient." He turned his head and eyed Irina, his eyes cold and hard.

Gregor slammed the pedal to the floor and the Jeep lunged forward. Jack saw Irina brace herself against the back of the passenger seat.

Jack bit back a curse, and grasped the roll bar for self-preservation. The Russian galloped – there was no other word for it – the jeep across roads and through back trails, bouncing and lurching all the way. They arrived at a rustic village inn, from the back way, of course, and the jeep slid to a park in a mud patch near the rear entrance.

Gregor looked over his shoulder at his two passengers, and grinned. "Now, let’s get you cleaned up, and fed."

They piled out of the car. Jack’s leg muscles had stiffened during the ride, but he managed to extricate himself from the Jeep with only a little difficulty.

Once inside the inn, Irina set off to find them a room. Gregor led Jack to a table in the middle of the tavern. Jack grabbed a menu from behind the bar looked it over. "Are you open for business?" he asked coolly.

Gregor snorted. "That depends, da? Are you *sure* you want to eat here? I might poison you."

Jack laid the menu down on the table and looked up at the other man. "Unlikely considering you’ve already assisted Irina in retrieving me. Why go through the effort of poisoning me when you could have simply told her ‘no’." He bared his teeth in an icy smile.

"Hmmm…You make a very good point, American. And yet, I am a man of my word." He gestured expansively toward the menu. "Go ahead and eat. I promised Ira I would get you safely to Prague. And I will. After that….who is to say?" He shrugged. 

Jack ordered eggs and sausage, and asked for water. He reached into his pocket and deliberately counted out the price listed on the menu, placing the exact change on the table. 

Gregor placed a pitcher of water and a glass before Jack. He looked thoughtfully at the money on the table. After a moment, he took it and headed back into the kitchen. Passing Irina on the way, he said, "At least he has manners." She glared at him. 

"The rooms are upstairs. There aren’t any on the ground floor. I checked." 

Jack nodded, noting that she said ‘rooms’, not ‘room’. He was initially relieved, and yet felt vaguely disappointed. Frowning, he carefully filled his glass with water. He offered to pour Irina a glass, and she pulled one out from behind the counter and moved to sit across from him at the table. Jack drank carefully; as much as he wanted to down the entire glass in one draught, he knew he’d make himself sick if he tried. After taking a long sip, he asked, "Do we have any pain pills?"

She nodded, and slid two across the table to him. "We have half a bottle left."

"Thanks. I’ll wait until I get some food," he pocketed the pills and took another long sip of water. "You trust this contact?"

"I do. Gregor’s a friend. I’ve known him since I was seventeen."

"You have an established ... relationship… with him?"

Irina noted the careful way he asked the question. "Jack, he was my combat instructor at the Academy," she replied calmly. "I only saw my parents about once a year. I saw Gregor more than I saw my own father." She struggled for the right words. "He’s like family to me."

"A mentor, then. He has affection for you."

Irina smiled. "As I do for him."

Jack took another draught of water. "Former KGB?"

"Yes. And the best knife master I’ve ever seen."

"That explains the scar on his arm," Jack replied.

She nodded. "He always used to wear long sleeved shirts to practice. I never understood why." Irina took a sip of her water "One day, I came to class full of energy. I’d advanced quickly through the ranks, and was beginning to get a bit full of myself, you see. We faced off to spar, within five seconds he’d swept my feet out from under me and had his knife at my throat." Irina pressed the back of her hand to her windpipe briefly. 

"So, there I was, staring up at him from the floor. And before he reached down to help me up, he rolled up his sleeve and showed me that scar. "Irina, no matter how good you think you are, there is always someone better." Her eyes crinkled at the memory. "I was a lot less cocky after that!"

"Good advice," Jack agreed.

Irina nodded. "It is."

"You trust him."

"With my life."

Jack nodded and finished his water, then poured another glass. He took a moment to analyze the situation tactically. If Gregor was willing to align himself with Irina’s goals, then that was as much reassurance as he could possibly get. The Russian’s allegiance was with Irina, and Jack himself was unimportant from Gregor’s point of view. Not the most advantageous situation, but one he would accept.

Just then, the man himself pushed open the swinging doors to the kitchen and advanced on their table carrying a large platter of fried eggs and potatoes with sausage. He set the food down in front of Jack and turned his attention to Irina. "Ah! Rushka, there you are. What do you think of my little establishment? Not a bad place, here, eh? If I do say so myself."

"It's lovely." Irina smiled. "Gregor, could you please get me a glass of juice and some toast?" 

Her friend frowned. "Only toast? What kind of a meal is that? Irina, you eat like a bird, ever since—"

"Gregor!" Irina snapped, her brows lowering.

"Da…I know. Juice and toast." He spread his hands in a placating gesture. "I will be right back."

"*Thank* you."

Although he was starving, Jack waited to begin until Gregor’s back was turned. He ate quickly, the quality of the meal barely registering in his mind. When he was about halfway through, he stopped and took his pain medication. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a bill and laid it on the table. When Gregor returned with Irina’s toast, he said, "I’ll take coffee as well."

"Hmfph." Gregor picked the bill up off the table. Folding it into a neat square, he slipped it into his shirt pocket. Without another word, he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Jack continued eating, the only sound in the room his knife and fork as he worked his way through breakfast. When Gregor returned with his coffee, he took it wordlessly and took a sip. It was strong,and good. The set of Jack’s shoulder’s eased slightly, and he leaned back in his chair.

Irina glanced at Jack, then at Gregor’s retreating back. "I’ll be right back," she said, and pushed her chair back with a loud scrape. Without waiting for a response, Irina stood and strode after him. 

+++++

"What the hell was that about?" Irina burst through the kitchen doors, furious.

Gregor turned from the sink, a soapy dish in his hand. "What are you talking about, Ira? Was the food not acceptable?"

Irina’s lips thinned, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Cut the innocent act, Gregor. You were never good at it. Why is Jack paying for his coffee?"

The big man shrugged. "I have an establishment to run, Ira."

"Jack is your *guest*."

Gregor set the last plate on the drying rack with a clatter. "Nyet! I do this for you, not him. If it were up to me, Mr. Bristow would be rotting in the nearest jail cell."

Surprise flashed briefly over her features.

"Ah, yes. I saw the morning papers today. Quite an escape, eh? It would be a pity if it were all for nothing."

"Gregor, family or not, if you *dare*—"

"Pssht." He waved a hand dismissively. "He’d be released eventually…say, two or three years."

"How kind of you." Irina said dryly.

Gregor slung the dish towel over his neck. Stepping forward, he placed his hands gently on her shoulders.

"He’s no good for you, Ira. I will not let you sacrifice yourself for him again."

"I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Gregor. Either you’ll help us, or you won’t. You don’t like Jack? Fine. No one asked you to. But you *will* refrain from antagonizing him while we are here."

Irina spun on her heel and headed back to the dining area. "Irina!" Gregor called as the kitchen doors slammed behind her. "Don’t be an idiot. Remember last time!"

++++++

 

Jack ate thoughtfully, the voices in the kitchen were not loud enough for him to make out the words, but he would recognize the timbre of Irina’s aggravation anywhere. He took one of her slices of toast and proceeded to mop up the remnants of his breakfast. By the time Irina strode back to the dining room, he had finished his plate.

"Everything all right?" he asked with an eyebrow raised.

Irina flashed him a tight smile. "Fine." She slid back into her seat and picked up her half-eaten piece of toast. "Gregor will drive us to Prague in the morning. I have a safe-house there. We should be secure for a while, at least. It’ll buy us some time."

Jack nodded. "I ate your toast."

"I noticed." Her lips quirked upward.

Gregor arrived to refill the coffee pot, and glared at Jack as he did so. He was gone as quickly has he had appeared.

Jack ignored Gregor’s ire and sat back in his chair and enjoyed the dark, strong coffee. He mentally planned the rest of the day, including a shower and sleep. His thoughts turned back to his long, bleak night in the barn.

"Thank you," he said. "For coming back for me."

Irina took a sip of her coffee. "I promised I would, didn’t I?"

"Nonetheless, I still appreciate it." He drained his coffee cup and wiped his face with a napkin. "What are your thoughts on lying low until tomorrow?"

"It’s a good plan. As much as I hate the idea of staying in one place for too long, we both need the downtime."

"Yes. Why don’t you get some rest?"

Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him critically. "And what about you?"

Jack’s face registered mild amusement. "If you must know, my priority is to bathe before I sleep."

Irina chuckled. "Well, unfortunately, the shower is also upstairs. Do you need help?"

Jack pushed away from the table. "I can make it." He proceeded to make his way through the dining room and into the small lobby.

"All right." Irina stood and led the way to the wooden staircase. Despite its appearance, the wood was strong, and Jack had little difficulty. Even so, Irina paused every few steps to make sure he was steady.

The stairwell was little wider than Jack’s shoulders, and he slowly plodded to the second floor. He fought back a stab of irritation at Irina’s hovering and followed her past the landing and into their room at the end of the hall.


	13. Chapter 13

Beraun  
Czech Republic

 

It was evening before Irina woke again. She could see the lengthening shadows across her room, and a dull red glow against the windowshade.

Shaking off sleep, she got out of bed and dressed, discovering that her clothing had been freshly laundered. Irina moved out into the hallway and headed for the stairs, noting that Jack’s door was still closed.

"Ah, Ira." Gregor called up to her from the bottom of the stairs. He wore an apron and wiped his hands on it, leaving handprints of flour on his chest. "You are awake. Good. I have prepared dinner. You and your…friend…are most welcome to join me."

Irina hid a grimace at Gregor’s sarcastic tone. It seemed there would be no reprieve for Jack this evening. She followed her old friend into the kitchen, determined to keep the encounter as subdued as possible. She helped Gregor finish the preparations,for a hearty, homestyle meal of soup, meat and bread. She kept up a light and steady patter of conversation as she went.

A half hour later, Jack, rested and freshly shaved, joined them for dinner.

Gregor set a large earthen pitcher of dark beer on the table, then took a seat himself. The studied casualness of the Russian made Irina pointedly aware that this would not be a leisurely meal. She wondered how long she could stave off the inevitable disaster. Jack offered to fill her glass, and Irina took the distraction gratefully.

"Thank you," she said, ignoring the mounting tension in the room as the two men surveyed each other over their roast chicken.

"You’re welcome." Jack offered to top off Gregor’s glass. Their host eyed him, but grunted his assent.

Irina grabbed a piece of bread as the loaf went around, buttering it liberally. Searching for a neutral topic, she said: "We won’t stay more than a day or two. Just long enough to get cleaned up and a ride to Prague."

Gregor’s gaze flicked from Irina to Jack. "The police will be looking for a man with a limp," he said. 

"Yes," Jack agreed. "It does complicate our exit strategy. Fortunately, there is more than one man in Prague with a limp."

"But not one who has also robbed a train."

"It is a calculated risk," Jack said. "I stand a better chance in Prague than at a border crossing."

"True." Gregor took a bite of his chicken. "What do you intend to do, when you reach Prague, American?"

Irina frowned. She knew her old mentor well enough to know he was digging—but for what? She was just about to call Gregor to heel when Jack spoke.

"That is something that Irina and I are considering, together." Jack said in even tones as he buttered his bread. "What do you think, Irina?"

Irina’s eyebrow shot up in surprise at Jack’s studied air, but she answered him in kind: "I’d like to lie low for a while," she glanced at Gregor, "to give Jack time to heal. But also to plan our next move. We have the bait now, but it will all come to nothing if we don’t lay our trap carefully."

Gregor took long draught of his beer and set the mug down with a thud. His eyes narrowed on Jack. "A wise decision," he said. There was, she thought, a touch of challenge to his tone.

"I thought so," Jack said lightly as he speared a sausage. "We have essentially completed our first goal, and now must plan our next action, seize the initiative."

"It is very comforting, da? To know that you are in control."

Irina stiffened minutely. "Gregor…" she warned.

"I never claimed to be in control," Jack said. "Only that we must apply our leverage at the ideal fulcrum."

Gregor sat back in his chair and gazed at Jack thoughtfully. "It is good, to have plans," he said finally. "Strategies. But sometimes strategies fail."

"Yes," Jack said, then redirected the line of questioning. "How do you cope with the unexpected?"

Gregor’s eyes lit up. "Ah. That is the question, is it not?" He steepled his fingers and studied Jack critically. "Life is full of twists and turns. I must confess, at my age, I prefer the straight road. There are no hidden roots or potholes to trip a man up, da?"

Irina nearly choked on her soup. The air was thick with male posturing, and she was genuinely curious who would win, and more to the point, when they would stop.

"Da," Jack said. "And yet surprises are still possible, even on the straight and narrow."

Gregor raised his beer in a toast. "To the straight and narrow." There was the slightest edge of condescension in his tone.

Jack raised an eyebrow and joined in the toast. "Straight and narrow," he said blandly.

"I am forever telling Irina that she is too incautious," Gregor continued, fixing his student with a critical eye.

Irina’s smile was all teeth. "You worry too much, old friend." To Jack, she said: "Gregor forgets that I’m no longer at the Academy."

"He’s concerned for you, Irina," Jack said.

/Interesting/, Irina thought. Jack remained as unruffled as ever, but Irina could see the tension in his face, and the stiffness in his posture. And she hadn’t missed the way he’d deftly turned Gregor’s attention on to her. /Very nice, Agent Bristow/, she thought. In other circumstances, she might have admired his skill. In this case, however… "I can take care of myself," she said pointedly

Gregor snorted. "I think you get yourself into too much trouble, Ira." To Jack, he said, "She doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone."

Irina froze, and her smile turned brittle.

"I would disagree," Jack said. "Irina is a consummate gamesplayer." 

Gregor took a bite of his soup. "Do you think so? Then perhaps you don’t know her very well at all."

Now /that/ was cutting a little too close to home. Irina cleared her throat. "While I’m sure this subject is terribly fascinating for you both," she glared at them, "may we please focus our attention on the immediate problem?"

"Yes," Jack said. "The immediate problem." He closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then he carefully removed a small photograph from his wallet and handed it to Gregor.

It was a snapshot of Sydney, worn at the edges, but obviously well-loved. In it, Sydney had her head tilted to the side, as if listening for something. A slight smile graced her lips. 

Irina sucked in a breath and suddenly, she wanted to reach out for Jack’s hand and hold tight. Wanted to ask him about the moment captured in the photograph.

"So, Ira, this is your daughter." Gregor took the picture from Jack, holding it gingerly in his large hand. His gaze moved from Irina to Jack and back again. "She is lovely." He handed the picture back to Jack.

"She is." Irina affirmed, and her features grew soft before turning resolute. "Sydney’s in trouble, Gregor. She needs our help."

"What sort of trouble?"

Jack’s eyes flickered towards Irina, requesting unspoken permission. She nodded briefly.

"Unclear," Jack said. "We believe she’s in a deep cover operation, and the artifact we acquired from the train is our leverage for arranging a meet with her."

Gregor raised an eyebrow. "I will not ask specifics. One learns not to be nosey in this business, eh? I will only speculate. If you believe this assignment is a danger to your daughter, why not ask for the operation to be ended?"

Irina’s features were carefully neutral when she said, "We have not been able to contact the CIA on this issue."

"I see." Gregor’s gaze pinned Jack.

Jack’s mouth twitched. "The operation will not be ended until we contact Sydney."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"The item we retrieved yesterday is bait, to draw her employers, and then her, out."

Irina saw the gears turning in her old friend’s mind. "Has your daughter attempted to contact you before?"

"No." Jack cleared his throat. "She… allowed us to believe her dead."

Silence fell for a long moment. Irina struggled to keep her composure.

"I cannot imagine what that must have been like," Gregor said quietly, "to grieve, and yet, to never truly know the truth. Yet, you have both been given a second chance, no? Your Sydney is alive."

"Yes, thank God," Irina murmured. "And I—" she glanced at Jack—"/we/, intend that she remain so. This thing that Sydney is involved in, it’s huge. Bigger than any of us. I don’t want to involve you any more than I must, Gregor."

The Russian waved a hand dismissively. "I’ll here no more apologies, Ira. You have asked for my help, and I will do what I can."

"Thank you," Jack said sincerely. "At this point, we need only assistance in travelling to Prague. The rest will have to be worked out later."

Gregor nodded. "Whatever you need."

Irina let out an inaudible sigh of relief, and the rest of dinner passed in companionable silence.


	14. Chapter 14

Beraun  
Czech Republic

Well after closing time, Gregor had chased the last of his patrons away, leaving the common room empty. Jack gravitated to it, drawn by the heavy wooden beams and roaring fire. He poured himself a cognac—leaving the exact tab at the register—and sank into an overstuffed chair. He hefted his feet onto an ottoman and stared into the fire.

In the months following Sydney's 'death' he had not allowed himself room for quiet contemplation. But here and now he felt secure enough to indulge himself, if only for a few minutes. He approved of Gregor's bartending skills—the cognac was of exceptional quality. He exhaled deeply and allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease.

He had polished off one glass of cognac and poured himself another when Irina entered the room. She wore a too-large flannel robe and carried the satchel that carried the Rambaldi item.

Irina nodded in greeting, and, after a brief hesitation, dropped the briefcase on the loveseat opposite Jack. She disappeared into the kitchen, and a moment later her voice floated out to him: "I thought we'd take a look at that, see what we have to bargain with."

She reappeared again, a glass of Merlot in her hand. She sat down on the loveseat.

Jack eyed the briefcase, and then Irina. He had not failed to notice the slight tremor of excitement in her voice, though she fought to control it. A frisson of worry coursed through him—he never cared to ask where he or Sydney ranked on her list of priorities in comparison to Rambaldi. He took a deep breath and answered her. "It would be prudent," he agreed.

"Do you want to open it, or should I?" She asked, her head tilted regally, her expression that of a dare.

"I'm not an expert," Jack demurred.

She nodded sharply, and pulled back the flap on the briefcase. Reaching in, she pulled out a black velvet drawstring bag, about half the size of the case itself. Jack saw her run her fingers over the bag; frowning at what she felt. Irina slid to the floor and shook the contents out on the hardwood.

Pieces of carved oak lay before them, the rich gold color startling in the lamplight. Irina picked up a bead and squinted at it. "I can't make out the inscription," she murmured. Placing the bead back down reverently, she turned her attention to a set of long, thick wooden rods made out of the same oak. These were of varying lengths, and held the same flowing script as the beads. The words were dyed in red.

Jack leaned forward in his chair, watching her. "Is it broken?"

Irina ran one finger down the side of a rod and shook her head. "I don't think so. It isn't splintered, do you see?" She handed the piece to Jack, and picked up a second bead, rolling it around in her fingers.

Jack took the rod from her and inspected it. "May I?" he held out his hand for the bead she held.

There was the smallest hesitation before she handed it over for inspection.

Jack noted her reluctance, but did not comment. He tested the edges of the rod and ran his fingers over the engravings. "I think I had a set of these when I was a kid."

"A set of wooden rods?" She blinked in surprise.

"Tinkertoys," Jack said. "I used to play with them for hours, constructing ferris wheels and cranes." He handed the pieces back to her.

Irina gazed up at him, and her lips twitched. Then she burst out laughing. "Somehow, I don't think these are tinkertoys," she said.

Jack smirked. "The concept is similar. The question is do we want to assemble it?"

She tensed, and something sparked in her eyes. "I don't see how we can afford not to."

"Surely it's valuable enough as a bargaining chip, even in pieces," Jack pointed out.

Irina leaned back against the loveseat and crossed her arms over her chest. "True. But think how much more valuable it would be assembled. This artifact could give us clues to Sloane's endgame. Don't you think it's worth it, to be one step ahead of him?" Her gaze was intense in the lamplight.

"It's a clue," Jack said. "That will lead to another clue. To another piece of a puzzle that has no solution." He shrugged, "I don't see a point to it."

Irina gritted her teeth. "You wouldn't. You've never believed in Rambaldi. But Sloane *does*."

"As do you."

"My beliefs aren't under discussion," she said sharply, a spark of anger in her voice. She mastered it and continued, "I am merely saying more information is always preferable to less."

Jack drew a long breath. His eyes glinted like flint. "In the interests of … research."

"Fine. We're agreed." Irina began picking up the pieces of wood and sliding them back into the velvet bag. "I suggest we both get some sleep. We have a lot to do in the morning."

"Yes," Jack said. "Agreed." He didn't stand, simply sat back in his chair and rested his feet on the ottoman.

Irina picked up her empty wine glass and the velvet bag. "Good night," she said simply, and headed up the stairs.

"Goodnight," Jack echoed. He nursed his cognac and stared into the fire, long after she was gone.

++++

Prague

Irina shivered and pulled her threadbare coat closer as she scanned the streets around her. Despite the late hour, Prague was still bustling with activity. Her eyes narrowed. *There's something wrong here.* She noticed a thin man leaning against a street sign across from them. He was smoking a cigarette. Irina frowned. "You see him?" she whispered to Jack.

Jack shuffled behind her and grunted in acknowledgement. "Tight security."

Irina nodded. "I count four undercover constables on this street alone."

"We may have to change our configuration." Jack pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it, neatly obscuring his face as he did so. "Find out exactly what they're looking for." He indicated a newsstand across the street.

Irina nodded and darted across the street. Moments later she was back, a newspaper in hand. "The descriptions are unclear, but accurate enough to cause a problem." She indicated the headline splashed across the front page: "Terror on the Railways!" A hastily drawn sketch of them both accompanied the article.

"The police will have a better description than this," Jack said as he perused the paper. "Our disguises won't stand up to scrutiny. We should split up."

"I disagree. Your leg—"

"Will give you away," Jack completed her sentence and glared at her for good measure. "Take the item and go. We'll meet later."

Irina was silent for a long moment, her mouth set in a stubborn line. "You remember the directions to the safe house?" She asked sharply.

Jack did not respond, merely twitched his eyebrow.

She crossed her arms. "I don't like it."

"And what is your plausible alternative?"

Her lips thinned in irritation. She hated to admit it, but he was right. They were too visible together, and at least one of them stood a chance of getting out of this police chokehold if they separated. And yet…"Take the back roads. And don't you dare get captured."

"I'll meet you at seven, on the terrace in Riegrovy Sady park." Jack gave her a curt nod, and then shuffled across the street.

Irina didn't watch him go; instead, she slung her pack over one shoulder and turned away. A moment later, she had melted into the crowd and was gone.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Prague  
Riegrovy Sady Park

Irina paused at the terrace steps. They were eroding from disuse and ill repair, the mortar and stone crumbling underfoot. A few late-night visitors meandered through the dusty pathways. Uneasiness raced up her spine. She saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head to the left. She could just barely make out Jack, limping toward her. Irina bit her lip. *His injury's showing.* Which meant he was exhausted. She stepped off the path into the grass.

Jack noted Irina's approach, and eyed the other inhabitants of the park. Satisfied that they were as unobserved as possible, he looked towards Irina and tipped his hat to her. He then turned towards a side street, expecting her to follow.

She waited a moment before joining him. "No difficulties, I take it?"

"Nothing significant. And you?"

"No. Luckily, the local police are rather obvious in their attempts at a search."

Jack gave the barest hints of a smile. "I noticed. I overheard the military intends to set up checkpoints within the city. We should find your safe house and stay there for several days."

They started walking. "Hopefully, this will die down after a while."

"It will remain at the forefront of the public consciousness for a few days. Then new headlines will capture attention and we'll have less to worry about from concerned citizens."

The two fell silent as they left the park and moved into an old neighborhood of the city. The streets were narrow, and the upper stories of apartments and businesses crowded out the night sky above them.

They continued down ever more narrow cobbled streets. "The fastest way is through the breezeway up ahead," Irina said. "We can pass through this block and onto the next—" She froze, motioning for Jack to stop. *A slight sound, the crunch of gravel…*

Suddenly, the alley was illuminated by a blast of light. Irina stumbled backwards, disoriented.

And then she heard an engine roar to life. *Oh, God…* Irina reached out blindly for Jack, shoving him hard against the wall, away from the glare of the light and the squealing tires.

++++++++++++++++++

Jack heard it, too, but his tired body did not respond as quickly as Irina. He felt himself shoved to the side, and his head banged against the bottom of a fire escape ladder. He hauled himself up and reached down for Irina.

The car—a police cruiser, Jack noted—rammed its fender into the building below him. He nearly lost his grip as the entire structure shook. Plaster crumbled and roof tiles rained down. Irina sprinted toward the mouth of the alley, and safety. The car recklessly backed away from the wall and sped towards her.

Jack pulled out his firearm and unloaded several shots into the vehicle, and noted it swerve slightly in its path.

Unfortunately, the swerve didn't give Irina any leeway. The driver levelled out the car and gunned the engine. Up ahead, the street was blocked by a large dumpster. Irina attempted to dodge around it, but she was a second too slow. Faced with being caught between the dumpster and the car, Irina opted to roll over the hood. She crashed onto the pavement, unmoving, and the car continued down the alley.

Jack dropped to the ground and rolled, unloading the rest of the magazine into the car. The driver sped away and turned onto the next street, clipping the side of the building and several parked cars as he did so.

Heedless of his leg, Jack knelt beside her. "Irina?" he called out, then again. "Irina?" He placed his fingers on her lips. *Still breathing*, he noted with relief. Rapidly, he ran his hands over her body, searching for obvious injuries. Some blood, from her back and shoulder, seeped onto his fingertips. Satisfied for the moment, he turned her over gently.

"Irina!" he said sharply. He heard the shocked voices of local residents draw near.

Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. There was no other response.

"Irina," Jack repeated, his voice caught with worry and frustration. Carefully, he checked her neck again, and determined it was safer to move her than not. He holstered his gun and, with a grunt of effort, pulled her up to a sitting position and gathered her in his arms.

He swayed a moment, gaining his balance and compensating for his leg, then began walking haltingly down the street to the safe house.


	15. Chapter 15

Prague

Two blocks later, Jack hobbled through the doorway of the small flat Irina kept as a safe house. Shifting her in his arms, he shut the door behind him and took in the scene. Space was at a premium, and as in most European flats, it was used with ruthless efficiency. The kitchenette contained a small table and two chairs. The main room barely held a large desk with an accompanying chair and bookshelves. He carried Irina through a narrow doorway and found himself in the bedroom. A door led to a cramped en suite bathroom.

Every muscle in his body protested as he lay Irina gently on the bed and set to work. It took him mere seconds to locate her well-stocked medical kit. He overturned the contents onto the bed beside her and called her name again, but Irina did not stir. Frowning, he used a pen light to check her pupils; they were equal and reactive, the best he could hope for under the circumstances.

He took the next few minutes to tend to her wounds. He undressed her efficiently and noted each injury—bruised ribs, abrasions and a suspicious swelling in her left hand. All the while he worked he called her name, and his worry increased with each unanswered question. He made some quick calculations and began planning taking her to the hospital if she didn’t waken soon.

Eventually, she was bandaged and sewn up, and he rifled through the armoire, locating a plain but quality nightgown. It was similar to what Laura might have worn, he thought glumly, then pushed traitorous thoughts aside. With exquisite care, he dressed her in it and covered her with the blankets. He sat at her beside and waited for her to wake.

+++++++++++

Warmth flooded Irina’s senses. It cocooned her, surrounding her legs and torso, making it difficult to move. She grunted, trying unsuccessfully to lift her limbs.

*Why the hell couldn’t she move?!*

Panic shot through her as she struggled to free herself. Suddenly, the warmth exploded into flame, scorching her back and shoulder.

She cried out and her eyes snapped open.

Irina’s cry jolted Jack from the half-doze he had been enjoying, sitting in a chair by the bed. Quickly, he slid over to sit on the side of the bed. "Irina, you’re all right," he said before awkwardly covering her hand with his.

Irina stared at him for a moment, dazed. Then comprehension dawned.

"The alley…" She rasped. "The car. What happened?" She tensed as a shiver of pain raced up her spine, and she tightened her grip on his hand.

Leaning over her, Jack frowned. "Unclear. The police cruiser cornered us and hit you. Not standard police tactics. I’m reasonably certain that I wounded the driver." He reached over to the nightstand to grasp a small flashlight. Giving her hand a squeeze, he pulled his hand from her grasp and laid it alongside her head, gently coaxing her to turn slightly. "Look at me."

She did, biting her lip as the muscles in her neck and shoulder protested the movement.

"Sorry," he said softly. He laid his large hand over her eyes, then proceeded to check her pupils again. "As you are no doubt aware, you were knocked out. You probably have a concussion, and we need to be careful that there’s nothing more serious. Your pupils are equal and reactive," he diagnosed. He laid the flashlight back on the nightstand and allowed her to get marginally comfortable again. "I can’t give you any painkillers until we know the extent of your head injury."

Irina almost nodded, but thought better of it. "All right," she said. "How long was I out?"

Jack sighed, "Approximately fifteen minutes. Long enough for me to find your bolt-hole and clean you up."

"Thanks. What about you?" she asked. "How badly were you hurt?"

"I’m fine," Jack replied. "Thanks to your reflexes."

Irina sagged against the pillows. After a moment, she said, "Not the police, then. Someone else. A mole?" Her speech was slightly slurred.

"Or impostor," Jack agreed. "I expect that the Guild is displeased with our interference. Either way we must keep a low profile while you are recovering. You thirsty?" He reached over to the bedside table and picked up a glass of water.

"Water would be wonderful." Irina winced at the rasp in her voice.

She tried to ignore the slide of Jack’s fingers through her hair, instead focusing on the water he offered. She drank deeply, then pulled away from the glass, nodding slightly to indicate she was finished.

Jack set the glass back on the table. He sat up straight and arched his back in a half-hearted attempt to work out the knots that had set up residence. "How do you feel? Headache? Any dizziness?"

Irina slid down on the bed and rested her head on the pillow. The pain beat at her in waves, sapping her energy. She cracked one eye open, hardly aware she had closed them in the first place. She waved one hand weakly. "Fine." Then, with slightly more conviction: "I’m fine."

"I remain unconvinced," Jack said. "You can go to sleep, but I’m going to wake you every hour. If I’m not satisfied with your level of consciousness, you’re going to the hospital."

"Yes, sir!" gave him a half-hearted salute.

Jack nodded in what could have been a half-laugh, but his face remained grave. He switched the light off and moved around to the side of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt on the way. The bed creaked as she sat on the opposite end. He removed his watch and set the alarm for one hour, then removed his pants, socks and shoes, and slid into bed.

"Thank you," his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Any time." she replied. Irina felt him settle in behind her, his body radiating a subtle warmth. She felt herself relax into sleep.

Barely an hour later, Irina was recalled to wakefulness by Jack’s voice, and his hand gently shaking her shoulder.. She tried to turn over in order to face him, but thought better of it as pain lanced through her back. She sucked in a breath. Next to her, she could feel Jack tense.

"S’alright." she managed finally. "I’m awake."

"What is the square root of 80?" Jack asked clinically.

She answered without thinking. "8.9 . What kind of a question is that?"

"The patient appears to be alert," Jack said dryly. He leant over her, checking her pupils again. "Good. You’re not in a coma," he pronounced.

"Wonderful. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"You have my permission," Jack drawled before settling back into bed himself. "We’ll talk again in an hour."

Irina barely heard him. She was already sinking back into a dreamless sleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++

A low cry shocked Jack into wakefullness. Disoriented, he bolted upright to meet the threat his senses told him was near. Beside him, Irina shivered. She clutched at the blankets, and sweat broke out on her brow.

He watched her closely, gauging her reactions. *Was it a night terror or something more serious?* He wanted to wake her, but was wary of startling her. He didn’t want to receive a left hook for his trouble. "Irina?" He said quietly. "Wake up."

Her vision cleared, and she sucked in a breath. Irina squinted up at him in the dark. "Jack?"

"Are you all right?" Jack gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Irina swallowed hard. "I’m fine." she said.

Looking down at her profile in the moonlight, Jack could see the tension in the curve of her mouth; and his hand sensed the tightness in her neck. "Are you in pain?" he asked carefully.

"No."

She was lying, he knew it immediately, had spoken the same words in response to the same questions himself many times. He keenly sensed her need to wrap herself in quiet dignity -- he was altogether too familiar with the feeling. He lay back on his pillow, and settled onto his side behind her. Of its own volition, his left hand remained on the base of her neck, tracing gentle circles and teasing her hair. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until he finally spoke. "I know what that was."

She relaxed a little under his touch, but her tone was bitter when she replied, "Oh, you do, do you?"

"That was an observation, not an accusation."

"I know." she sighed. "I’m sorry." There was a long moment of silence, and then, "Kashmir. It was Kashmir."

Jack did not immediately respond. Memories flooded his mind of countless other nights when they laid in bed much like this, and quietly talked. A frown crossed his lips as he reflected that their most intimate conversations were only opportunities for her to divest him of classified information. He had bared his soul to her, and the entire Politburo as well.

With effort, he pushed the bitterness aside for the moment and took a breath. He didn't want to follow his thoughts down that particular road any longer. They appeared to be stuck with one another for the moment now, and though he would not admit it to himself, he wanted to help her in some small way.

"Kashmir," he echoed softly. "The prison?" He warned himself about letting down his guard, even as his hand massaged her neck. It was unusual for him to see Irina so… vulnerable, and even his rational self was curious about Kashmir.

"Yes. Kashmir was…like hell on earth. A dumping ground for disgraced politicians and others whom the regime found undesirable."

"Which were you?"

She fell silent, and for a moment, Jack was afraid she wouldn’t answer at all. Then, finally, she said, "Both."

"You never were a very good politician," Jack offered.

"And and even worse prisoner," She replied.

"Hm. Why don't I find that so difficult to imagine?"

Irina chuckled. "You know me too well."

"I doubt that," Jack breathed, so softly as to have been almost to himself. Then he asked, "What was the dream?"

Irina’s eyebrows shot up. "You…heard that?"

"I told you I knew what that was," Jack pointed out. "I heard… very little."

Irina closed her eyes and fell silent. After a moment, she said, "A few of the guards at the prison knew of my past. They'd read my reports, seen the briefing tapes. They used that knowledge to get to me."

"And that’s what you remember most?"

Irina stiffened. "One day. one of the more persistent guards came into my cell. He knew about our relationship. About Sydney. "

"They threatened Sydney," Jack said, more of a statement than a question.

"More than threatened," she corrected softly. He told me you were both dead. The guard came with evidence, pictures. I knew those photos could be faked, and yet I…" Irina’s gaze slid away from Jack.

"They shouldn’t have used Sydney to get to you." He shifted slightly before adding, "When did you find out she was alive?"

Irina frowned, but continued: "Shortly after I escaped from Kashmir. I immediately began trying to track you down. It wasn’t all that difficult to discover the truth. I considered revealing myself then, but…circumstances had changed. I thought it best to leave well enough alone."

"Was that before or after I was in prison?" Jack asked. He was having a difficult time holding back his own bitterness; his memories of that time were vivid and painful; he did not routinely dwell upon them. But he decided it would be more profitable to listen, and he didn’t want to provoke an altercation.

Irina turned to face him. "Prison?"

"You didn’t know?" Jack asked, genuinely shocked.

"No, I had no idea…I was very careful when I left. I made *certain* you had no culpability. What happened?"

"How thoughtful of you," Jack shot back.

Irina’s eyes narrowed. "I’m sorry you suffered, Jack." she said sharply. "I’m sorry Sydney suffered. But I don’t need your sarcasm. If you want to pick a fight, by all means, go ahead. I’m tired of tip-toeing around you."

Using her one good arm as leverage, she attempted to sit up in bed and swing her legs over the side.

"Please, Irina, spurious contrition is worse than none at all." Seeing that she was getting up, he demanded, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I’m doing?"

"Attempting to re-injure yourself." He really wanted to leave her be, but he was just rational enough to realize that she could hurt herself. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I’ll help you," he said grudgingly.

"Oh, please, don’t strain yourself on my account!"

"Don’t be infantile," Jack said as he carefully stood and limped around to her side of the bed.

Irina's eyebrows shot up. "And you stop being an ass."

He drew himself to his full height and reached his hand out to her.

She glared at him, challenging. Then, finally, placed her hand in his.

"Bathroom?" he asked curtly.

"Yes."

Jack nodded and helped her across the small room, steadying her as they went. They slowly hobbled together to the bathroom. She entered and slammed the door.

He leaned against the wall, seething. He played through the entire exchange in his mind -- it was his error for engaging her in conversation. He should not have opened himself up for yet another well-directed strike. For what seemed the hundredth time, he reminded himself that he couldn’t force her to give a damn. And since she obviously did not, and attempt on his part to prove otherwise was merely… pathetic.

He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool plaster.


	16. Chapter 16

Prague  
\---------

Irina looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. *Tired.* She thought. *Old.* She could blame it on the trauma of injury, she supposed. But the truth was, she was simply tired of fighting with Jack.

Their experiences in the last few weeks had done little to change his opinion of her. He was right in one regard: he did deserve answers, even if those answers weren't ones he wanted to hear.

She ran the tap and splashed her face with cool water. Somewhat invigorated, Irina put her hand on the door.

She paused in the act of opening it, hating the edge of fear that snaked its way through her stomach. What could she say to him? What could she possibly do to repair the damage that had been done all those years ago?

She felt like an animal in a cage, trapped by her own insecurities.

When she opened the door, he offered her his arm to lean on, and they made their unsteady way back to the bed. "Can I get you anything else?" he asked, his voice a study in measured politeness. "Anything to eat?"

"Just water, please."

She watched as he limped into the little kitchenette, wondering again why she needed him to understand. Why his forgiveness meant so much.

"I'm sorry, Jack." She'd been saying that a lot, lately, and yet it never seemed to help. She twisted the blanket in her hands. "I don't know what you want from me," she finished wearily.

Jack lingered in the kitchen, and she heard the tap turn on, and then off. He slowly returned to her and handed her a tall glass of water. His expression was blank, inscrutable; but his eyes glinted in the moonlight.

"Honesty," he said, and words tumbled out of his mouth, awkward and sad, as if he didn't want to ask. "If there is such a thing between us."

Carefully, she asked, "And would you believe me?" Her tone held no rancor, only resignation. 

"I don't know," he said simply. "But I deserve the opportunity to decide."

"All right." Placing the glass on the bedside table, she slid under the blankets. Turning to face him, she said: "First question."

Jack gazed out the shaded window. "If, as you claimed in Panama, you were working with me to stop Sloane -- why didn't you follow through with our plan? Or contact me later?"

The question surprised her. Of all of the things she thought he'd want to know, this was at the bottom of her list. She answered anyway. "I wanted to handle Sloane alone. There was a huge risk to Sydney, Sloane has always been fascinated with  
her. And there was a risk to you as well. If I had told you about my plan, there was a very real possibility that you could have been charged for treason. This way, you had plausible deniability."

Jack shrugged. Still staring out the window, he took a deep breath and asked, "Just now, when we were talking about your nightmare. What made you so angry?"

Irina's voice shook when she spoke. "You said that the KGB was wrong to use Sydney against me. *Sydney*. It never occurred to you that your death could mean as much...be just as hurtful."

Jack started, then turned around to face her, his outline silhouetted in the moonlight as he looked down at her on the bed. "No," he said guardedly. "It never did occur to me."

"Well, it should have," she snapped. "Why do you continue to dismiss your importance in my life? What we had..." *And what we could still have.* She flinched. *But you don't want that, do you?*

"I don't know what we had," Jack stepped forward, his words heated, uncontrolled for once. "What did we have? I was a fool, remember? Blinded by his emotions. Unsuspecting. Easy to deceive. A fool." He bit off the sentence, then turned again, staring out the window, but seeing nothing.

Irina shook her head, confused. "What? Jack, yes, I lied to you. It was necessary. But I never enjoyed it, and I never thought of you as foolish." There was something else in his words, something beyond the hurt and humiliation. And it was important. *...easy to deceive...a fool...'Jack Bristow was a fool..' Oh, God.* 

She paled. "You saw the tape."

His shoulders tensed visibly, his back ramrod straight. "Yes," he ground out.

Irina reached blindly for the glass at her bedside and gulped the rest of the water down. She wished desperately that the liquid was something far, far stronger. 

"I lied, Jack." she said flatly. Irina stared into the now empty glass. It hurt to look at him. "That wasn't a debriefing session. It was an interrogation." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Moscow was not happy with me. I knew it. I also knew that I was facing almost certain death. My only hope was to convince my handler and his superiors that I was still loyal. And so, I lied. I told them everything they wanted to hear."

She laughed bitterly. "I was never so much a Soviet as I was at that moment, I think. In the end, my little charade saved my life, but it didn't save me from Kashmir."

A muscle in Jack's jaw twitched. He turned and looked at her. "Were your superiors unhappy with your mission? Your... performance?" He nearly choked on the word. 

She nodded. "Oh, they could never question the quality of the intel I sent home, I made certain of that. But I was never very obedient in their eyes. My handler was furious when I became pregnant. He ordered me to terminate the pregnancy, and  
return to Moscow. I refused. Project Christmas was long completed at that point, I could have--should have returned home."

"Why didn't you?" Jack turned and walked across the room, sitting on a chair near the foot of the bed.

She swallowed, not daring to look at him. "I wanted to stay with my family." Her admission hung between them, like a weight in the darkness. She slid down so her head rested on the pillow, suddenly tired.

"Who is the more foolish, Jack?" she murmured. "You believed in a life you thought was the truth. I knew it was a lie...and yet I still believed it." 

"It wasn't a lie on my part," Jack said quietly. "You know that."

Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

"My... love..." his voice halted at the word, so unfamiliar in his vocabulary. "For you destroyed me."

"I know." Irina fought the urge to retreat, to crawl back into herself at his admission. "And I will never forgive myself for it."

"You," Jack continued, his throat going dry. "enticed me to trust you again. And I did, gave you a measure of trust. And you left. Again."

"I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of you. Arvin Sloane threatened everything that matters to me. But you...."

"Why are you afraid of me?"

She closed her eyes. *Kashmir was easier than this.* For a moment, she wished that she was anywhere but in the apartment, faced with Jack's relentless questioning. Resentment swelled within her. She fought it down. "I know you hate me. I can't blame you for it, but I can't bear to see it on your face."

Jack's eyes narrowed. He focused on her, and then looked away, studying the floorboards in the moonlight. It seemed an age before he spoke again. "I don't hate you, Irina. I... I'm afraid of you. You need to understand why."

"Tell me, " she said softly.

"I want to trust you. But if I trust you, you'll reel me in like fish, and then cut me lose and I'll have nowhere to go, nothing to anchor me. I'm too old to have to put myself back together again."

"I know I've hurt you in the past, Jack. But, I'd very much like to earn your trust and respect again, if you'll let me. I have no right to ask for more than that."

"I've already given you a great deal these last two weeks," Jack said. He sat back in his chair, his stiff posture unguarded for a moment. "Thank you for your honesty." 

"Is it what you wanted to hear?"

Jack was thoughtful. "I have a new perspective to consider."

She nodded. It was a beginning, and all she was likely to get from him at this point. Irina yawned and pulled the comforter closer.

Jack stood and slowly stretched. "How's your head?"

"Pounding." She admitted.

He frowned and leaned over her, flashing his penlight into her eyes. "You're looking better. Would you like something for the pain?"

"Yes," she admitted grudgingly. She hated taking painkillers. They dulled the senses and slowed one's reflexes. On the other hand, they were as safe as they were going to get, and she needed to heal.

"That bad, huh?" Jack sat on the edge of the bed and handed her two pills.

"Ugh. You have no idea." She glanced at the apartment door. "Has there been much police activity since we arrived here?"

"Not on this street. I heard the occasional siren earlier."

"That's good." Irina slid down to rest her head on the pillow. "We shouldn't go out tomorrow. At least, not until nightfall. We could be...recognized...." Sleep was taking over, and Irina fought to keep her eyes open.

She heard Jack's footsteps circle the bed, and felt the mattress dip as he lay down. Drawing the blankets around himself he said, "We'll worry about it tomorrow. Go to sleep."

"Goodnight," she murmured, her mind already drifting. He was close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin. The pain in her head had dimmed to a dull throb. Irina relaxed and tumbled into sleep. And this time, she did not dream.


	17. Chapter 17

Prague, Czechoslovakia

Light filtered in through the blinds, casting a grayish glow over the room. Irina blinked sleepily, letting her eyesight adjust to the dim light. She was curled up on the right side of the bed, Jack lying next to her in a bizarre parody of an earlier life.

Irina winced as she edged toward the side of the bed. Tiny flashes of flame raced up and down her spine. Swinging her legs to the floor, she paused to suck in a breath.

After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder at Jack, still sleeping heavily. She felt a stab of envy at his repose. She had always been an early riser, a fact she was growing to regret with every pulse of pain from her bruised ribs.

Irina heaved herself up from the mattress and shuffled slowly toward the little kitchenette. She was up. She was mobile. It was good enough, she noted with some satisfaction. Dragging her fingertips against the wall in order to steady herself, she made it unaided to the refrigerator.

Irina scanned the shelves. With satisfaction, she noted that Buciac had done an admirable job of restocking her kitchen. Finally deciding on eggs and toast, she took out the egg carton and made her way slowly to the old gas range.

Things started out well: She managed to get the eggs into the skillet, and the toast in the toaster. Feeling oddly accomplished, Irina paused to watch the eggs sizzle on the stove.

Perhaps she had overdone it, or perhaps she just hadn’t been paying attention, but Irina’s sense of satisfaction evaporated when she tried to slide the eggs onto a plate. She reached out for the skillet, only to jerk her hand back with a hiss as she burned it on the rim. The pan tipped over, sending fried eggs splattering onto the tile floor. Irina swore loudly in Russian.

She must have woken Jack, because she heard a thud as he – presumably – fell out of bed. He swore loudly and called out. "Irina, are you all right?"

"I’m fine!" She replied. Reflexively, she stuck her burned fingers into her mouth and glared at him over the countertop.

"Yeah, me, too," he grumbled as he levered himself to his feet and into her field of vision. He stepped slowly towards the little kitchen, eyeing the detritus on the floor. "What… no, I see what you’re doing. Did you burn yourself?"

Irina leaned against the refrigerator, trying to hide the sudden flash of pain at the movement. "Whatever gave you that idea?" she snapped.

Jack raised his eyebrows, and a faint smirk touched the edge of his mouth. "Let’s see. It could be the cooked eggs on the floor, the frying pan burning a hole in the linoleum, the fact that you had your fingers in your mouth…" he trailed off and then concluded. "Your denial further cements my hypothesis."

"Thank you, professor." She couldn’t keep her lips from twitching upward.

Jack eyed her for a moment, his mouth caught in a crooked half-smile. His shoulders shook, and it didn’t appear that he even realized he was on the verge of laughing.

She bit her lip, and shot him a guilty look. "I was never a very good cook, anyway."

"No, you weren’t," Jack agreed with a stifled chuckle.

Irina’s eyes glittered with mirth. She gestured to the eggs on the floor. "So, how about we clean up this mess and start over?"

Jack eyed her for a moment and replied, "Agreed." He steadied himself against the countertop and knelt down. He gingerly picked up the frying pan and set it on the stove. With a towel provided by Irina, he gathered up the remains of the eggs and tossed them in the trash. "You should sit down," he offered.

Irina raised an eyebrow, but moved to the little kitchen table.

With that, he wiped down the counter and grabbed a long knife. Testing its sharpness, he dug into the cupboards for a whetting stone and carefully sharpened it for a minute or two, until it met with his satisfaction. He then examined the cupboards and refrigerator and pulled out assorted items for use: the egg carton, cheese, sausage, and some vegetables. "This place was recently stocked with perishables," he said conversationally. "How did you manage that?"

"I called ahead and had someone bring in groceries and other necessities."

"You think of everything. Commendable."

Irina raised an eyebrow, faintly surprised at his praise. "I try."

Jack grinned at her and set about slicing the cheese. Irina watched him for a moment before saying, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He looked up from his cutting board. "You’re injured. You should relax."

Irina shook her head. Part of her was glad he’d decided to take up cooking duty—she really /wasn’t/ a good cook—but she also hated the feeling of helplessness that accompanied her wounds. "I’ve never been good at doing nothing. You know that."

Jack looked over at her as he cleaned the knife. His half-smirk returned when he decided on a task she could do. "Sure," he dug through the bags. "Can you peel the onion?" He handed her a very large, very strong white onion.

Irina took the vegetable silently, and began to peel back the first layer. She ignored the moisture that sprung immediately to her eyes.

"Thanks," Jack reached for another knife, sharpened it and began cutting into a tomato and some herbs he found in the pantry. "Can you do these, too," he gave her the sausage and then turned his attention to the coffee. "That is strong," he said as he onion fumes wafted to his portion of the kitchen. He wordlessly offered her a clean, moistened towel for her eyes.

She took it, her fingers brushing against his briefly. "Thanks." Setting the sliced onion aside, she started on the sausage. "I’m surprised no one has come by asking questions about last night. The attack wasn’t exactly subtle. Why haven’t the police been canvassing the neighborhood?" She wondered.

"I don’t know. The streets seemed quiet this morning." He set up the ancient percolator and turned it on. "I sense a cover-up of some kind." Turning back to the counter, he began steadily cleaning out the frying pan. "Either that or we didn’t really run into a policeman last night."

Irina nodded. "I have to agree. It had to be our friends from the train, the Guild of Orvieto. The hit was sloppy. They must be getting desperate."

"I would say they are. We caused a great deal of damage," Jack said as he gave the pan its final rinse. "For now, I think that lying low is a good plan." With aplomb, he cracked three eggs into a small bowl and began beating them with a fork. The butter was already sizzling in the pan.

Irina nodded. "Neither of us is in any condition to go hunting mercenaries," she agreed. She finished with the sausage. Setting it aside, she got up and made her way slowly to the sink to wash her hands and rinse the cutting board. "I hope you have some of those painkillers left," she commented.

Turning his attention from the omelet, Jack looked at her with concern. "How’s your head? Honestly?"

She shrugged, carefully. "Only marginally better than last night, I’m afraid."

"Let me take a look at you after breakfast. You seemed fine last night, but I want to be sure." He added the sausage and herbs to the omelet and began carefully tending to his creation as it cooked.

"Fair enough. That smells wonderful." She moved back to the kitchen table and lowered herself to a chair.

"It should," Jack boasted. He deftly folded the omelet in the pan and then flipped it. In another minute, he had slid the eggs onto a plate and poured Irina a cup of strong Czheck coffee. "Toast, I almost forgot," he said as he slid the plate and mug in front of her on the table. He sliced a few generous slabs of bread and set them under the broiler for a few seconds. Soon, Irina had a full breakfast, plus fresh bread and jam, in front of her.

She reached for the butter knife, spread a generous helping of strawberry jam onto her toast, and bit into it with relish.

Jack set about making his own omelet, and in a few minutes he joined her at the table. After he had eaten enough to take the edge off of his hunger, he commented, "I haven’t made breakfast in years."

"Our lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to leisurely meals." she said. "More like take-out and restaurants. When did you stop? When Sydney left home?"

Jack paused in mid-bite, a shadow crossing his face. "No. When you did." He chewed slowly, but continued eating.

Irina swallowed, the food suddenly tasting like ash in her mouth. She busied herself with stabbing a piece of omelet with her fork. Still looking at the food, she said, "I’ve missed this."

Jack stopped chewing, and looked up at her, bemused. He watched her for a moment, then went back to eating. When he noticed she was finished with her plate, he offered, "Can I get you anything else?"

"Painkillers?" she offered him a wry smile.

"Okay," he shoved the last mouthful of omelet into his mouth and then retrieved a bottle of pills and his small flashlight from across the room. Pulling up a chair to sit opposite Irina, he reached out his hand to touch her chin and examine her eyes.

"Everything looks okay," he ventured. "If you begin to show any symptoms, you have to tell me." With that, he popped open his pill bottle and offered two tablets to her.

She took them, downing the tablets with her juice. "I think I’m going to head back to bed." She winced as she rose from the table.

"Get some rest," Jack said to her retreating back. He finished his breakfast in silence.

Irina went into the bedroom and changed into a soft satin nightshirt. She frowned as she removed Jack’s shirt, noting the splotches of red where blood had soaked through. Dropping the ruined garment into the hamper, she proceeded into the bathroom to examine her wounds.

Sweeping her hair over one shoulder, she stood in front of the mirror, gazing critically at the gashes and pits that marked her skin. A few of the more superficial scratches had begun to bleed again. She dabbed fruitlessly at them with a damp washcloth. Irina was relieved to see that, despite her earlier fears, Jack’s sutures continued to hold.

Moving back to the bed, she climbed under the cool sheets. She could hear Jack moving around in the kitchen. The clink of silverware had a tinny, far off sound. Irina closed her eyes and relaxed into sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Prague, Czechoslovakia

Jack methodically cleaned the small kitchen. When it was restored to his satisfaction, he stood in the center of the room and stretched. He took stock of his own injuries, and determined that he was sufficiently rested at this time. Glancing about the room, he sought some activity to occupy him.

He checked on Irina,and hovered over the bed, watched her chest rise and fall with every breath. In sleep she was peaceful, serene. Her regal features softened into a faint smile, her hands lightly clutched the sheets.

Jack fought the urge to stroke her hair.

Frowning, he returned to the main room. Their luggage was strewn haphazardly on the settee, contents spilled out onto the floor. He unfolded his spare set of clothes and hung them in the closet—wrinkled, he noted with distaste. He found the shaving kit he had purchased from the thrift shop in Beraun and put it to use.

He puttered around the small apartment, finding small chores to undertake, and soon was skimming through a week old newspaper when his eyes fell on the satchel containing the bits and pieces of Rambaldi’s latest puzzle. He glared at it, representing as it did in his mind the futility of all things Rambaldi.

After a long minute, Jack looked away. Inanimate, he reminded himself, and snorted at his own folly.

Three minutes later, he had completed a mots croisés from an old Parisian magazine, and at last gave in to his boredom and reached for the satchel. He dumped its contents onto the kitchen table, worried for a moment that the clanking of wooden rods and beads would wake Irina. The last thing he needed was for her to think he was plotting Rambaldi against her.

Soon, he was sorting and manipulating the antique pieces. The level of detail on the carved pieces was extraordinary—he made out some Chinese characters, but the dialect was archaic and unfamiliar. Similarly, incomprehensible Latin and Greek phrases wrapped around the wooden beads. He laid them out much like he had played with tinkertoys as a boy – organizing the pieces by size and shape. There were thin rods, several brackets, and easily a hundred of the wooden beads, of seven different colors.

He had absolutely no idea what it was supposed to build. A microcosm of the endless Rambaldi puzzle. A hunt without end, to a goal no one understood.

Jack was about to sweep them all back into the satchel and go back to his mots croisés when the Chinese characters attracted his attention once again. His mind’s eye flashed back to a wall hanging he had seen some years ago in a Beijing museum. It depicted the Emperor surrounded by officials, each diligently performing his duty…

Jack blinked. Could it be that simple? Intrigued, he sat up and began manipulating the pieces once again. Slowly, a wooden frame took shape, and then he lined up the parallel rods. They were of varying thickness, and it took some time to make the necessary adjustments to order them correctly. When he felt he had them assembled, he turned to the beads.

Rambaldi’s artifact was an abacus, but like none Jack had ever seen. He attempted the standard configuration, but quickly determined that base ten was not what Rambaldi had in mind. He tried several different bases, methodically working through the options. While he could not read the writing on the beads, he determined that the characters and the color were another dimension to the puzzle. What had begun as a child’s game developed into a complex mathematical proof, and Jack grabbed a pad of paper and pencil to jot down his notes and equations as he worked them.

"Fascinating, isn’t it?"

Startled, Jack dropped his pencil. How long had she been watching him? He turned to face Irina. She leaned against the doorframe, an enigmatic smile curved her lips. "An engaging puzzle, yes."

She chuckled and moved into the room. Settling into the chair across from him at the cramped kitchen table, she said: "A puzzle for the ages." Irina looked at him curiously. "People have gone mad trying to solve it. And yet, you remain unmoved. Sometimes, I envy you that."

Jack pushed back from the table, unconsciously distancing himself from the bits and pieces of Rambaldi’s puzzle scattered between them. "Absolute power has never held any fascination for me."

"Is that what you think this is about?"

His eyebrow quirked at her, challenging. "Isn’t it?"

Irina looked thoughtful for a moment, then said: "What if someone handed you the building blocks to something that could benefit humanity exponentially? Don’t you think that would deserve some study?"

"Study, yes. But not blind devotion."

She looked away from him, at a worn spot in the plaster on the far wall. "I never said I was blindly devoted."

He looked at her askance, studying her countenance. Devoted, Jack thought. But not blind. He gave Irina more credit as an intellect, as a force of will, than that. "No, I didn’t think you were."

"Really? Then you’re a better actor than I am," her tone was bitter.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked guardedly.

"I know very well what you think of Rambaldi. I’m just surprised that you credit me with the ability to think for myself." Irina leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "After all, Rambaldi’s followers are all deluded sycophants, aren’t we?"

Jack drummed his fingers on the table, considering her statement. "Most of my efforts in the last several years have been aimed at protecting Sydney from Rambaldi’s sycophants."

Irina leaned back, her expression closed. "I would never hurt Sydney."

"I know you wouldn’t," Jack said. "But you’re the only one with that particular scruple."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He watched her sadly, unwilling to speak aloud the myriad of other doubts he held, the crimes he knew she committed in Rambaldi’s name. "You’re welcome," he said briskly, then looked back down at his notes and the partially-assembled abacus.

He heard the scrape of the chair as she stood. Impulsively, he asked the question that had laid heavy on his mind for months. "Why did you turn yourself in to the CIA last summer?"

She didn’t reply for a long moment. Finally, she said, "I thought I could beat Sloane at his own game by gaining access to the Rambaldi artifacts in CIA custody. My plan was to use the artifacts to flush him out, gain his trust, and eventually take over his organization."

Jack fingered a lacquered bead in his hand. "And Sydney would help you?"

"No!" She gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles showed white. "Sydney wouldn’t be involved at all. I told you I wouldn’t sacrifice her. I would have found another way."

"Not as a sacrifice," Jack shook his head slightly, that was not what he meant. "You planned for Sydney to help you, unknowingly enabling you to gain access to the CIA artifacts."

"For her own good." Irina rubbed a hand over her face tiredly. "You can’t tell me you haven’t done things for Sydney—/to/ Sydney—with the intention of protecting her in the end."

"I have," Jack said quietly. He watched her closely; she was pale, and her right hand was still clamped to the table. He frowned as she swayed slightly. "You should sit down."

Her lips thinned, but she sat. "For what it’s worth, seeing Sydney…things changed after that. She isn’t five anymore, is she?" Irina shot him a wan smile.

"No," Jack agreed. "She is a powerful young woman." He placed his hand over hers on the table.

Irina reached out and squeezed his hand briefly. "And this puzzle will help us find her."

"It’s an abacus, as you can see."

A quick grin flashed across her features. "Brilliant deduction, Agent Bristow. What else?"

"It’s not a standard one. The bases alternate and there are patterns in the carvings and bead arrangements that translate into abstract and higher mathematics. I’m proceeding from the hypothesis that there is a mathematical proof, or a statement, that this makes."

Irina got up and moved into the kitchen proper, returning with two full glasses of water. She handed one to Jack. "That’s not new," she said. "Rambaldi was a renaissance man—one of the premiere scholars in the sixteenth century. Physics, astronomy…he studied them all." Irina picked up the abacus and turned it over gently. "Do you have any idea what this equation could pertain to?"

Jack shook his head. "None. That would be your area of expertise. I’m the mathematician."

Irina drummed her fingers against her glass. "That’s just it, I don’t know. There have been arguments—centuries of arguments, in fact—about the ‘true’ Rambaldi path. The one thing everyone can agree on is that he has never been consistent. There are literally dozens of interpretations of the man’s endgame, ranging from immortality to complete environmental change." Irina took a sip of water. "And there is evidence to support every theory. I wonder which one this abacus belongs to?"

"Impossible to determine without additional information," Jack pronounced. "If it has any meaning whatsoever. Though if you think it would be profitable, I’ll continue transcribing."

"Please do. Perhaps there will be something in the equation that will be useful in stopping Sloane." Irina’s voice held doubt.

"In my estimation," Jack said. "That’s my only motivation for working with Rambaldi."

Irina smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’m sure you will do what you think is necessary," she said

Jack looked up at her and returned her level gaze. "I will."


	19. Chapter 19

Prague, Czechoslovakia

Jack eventually grew tired of Rambaldi's abacus, and as dusk fell on the city, he gathered up the pieces and put them back in their felt bag. Irina had already eaten a light lunch and gone back to rest, leaving Jack to consider their immediate options. 

They had arrived in Prague over thirty-six hours ago, and it had been three days since the train incident. It was time to reconnoitrer the area. Irina's bolt-hole was supplied with a disguise kit and he made use of several items, including contact lenses and hair dye. With the addition of his own reading glasses, he was ready to set foot into the outside world, looking considerably younger than the old man of the train robbery. As an added bonus, his leg had mostly healed and his limp was only residual. 

He strolled the city, and no one gave him a second glance. The undercover surveillance that had been so prominent before was negligible. The sensational stories in the newspapers had fallen back to the opinion pages, and he was amused to note that some editors accused he and Irina of being CIA agents conducting illegal and clandestine operations. A cover-up and conspiracy were suspected. Investigations were demanded. 

Jack only hoped that the CIA didn't recognize him in the police sketches, let alone Irina Derevko. Had Sloane seen them? Or Sydney? 

He replenished their medical supplies, and stopped at a bakery and market as well as the men's store for more clothes for himself. When he returned to the bolt-hole, laden with packages, his leg ached. He put away his purchases and cleaned up the dinner plate Irina had left in the sink.

When he was finished with cleaning the kitchen, Jack stood in the center of the room and stretched, finally giving in to his fatigue. The three weeks of constant running, jet lag, and injury had taken their toll. Even the minor shopping expedition had left him exhausted. He headed to the bathroom and drew up as hot a shower as possible and stood under the spray for several minutes.

He was nearly asleep on his feet, eyes shut and leaning against the tile, when the hot water ran out. He yelped and rapidly shut off the spigot. Stepping out of the shower, he couldn't help but chuckle at his own misfortune. He dried himself off and put on fresh boxers and a t-shirt. 

Judging by her stillness and even breathing, Irina was asleep. Jack stepped quietly to the window to draw the shade, and then climbed into bed.

Trying not to disturb her, Jack lay on his back and allowed sleep to take him. In a half-doze, he turned onto his side, behind Irina. Not knowing why he did it, only that it felt right and he didn't want to argue with himself, he reached his arm across her body. It rested lightly over her waist, with the blankets between them. With that, he fell into a deep sleep.

And somewhere in a half-dream, he felt her fingers lace through his. 

+++++++++

Jack was woken by the early morning sun shining through the blinds. He spent some time organizing supplies and washing clothes, and finally settled down beside the bed with a political tract concerning natural gas and Eastern European politics. He was halfway through the book when Irina groaned and stirred. 

He set the book aside without marking the page and moved to the edge of the bed to look down on her. "What's the square root of 57?" 

"7.549," she mumbled into the pillow. "If you keep this up, you're going to run out of equations."

Jack's lip quirked. "Numbers are infinite; and if you've forgotten that, perhaps I need to quiz you some more."

Irina rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow, wincing as the action pulled a muscle. "No thanks. And if you remember, /I/ was the literature student." She replied archly.

"Were you, really?"

"Yes. The instructors at the Academy felt that their students should be open to all disciplines. I enjoyed reading--Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, of course. But also other authors. I read everything I could get my hands on. There is something very freeing about the written word, I think." She cocked her head slightly. "Does that surprise you?"

Jack shrugged, his face inscrutable. "Nothing surprises me. It did make your cover convenient."

"Perhaps. But it's still the truth." 

Looking down for a moment, Jack nodded, then changed the subject. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore. Like a thousand tiny scorpions have stung me repeatedly."

"Only tiny ones? That's an improvement," Jack said dryly.

She laughed softly. "What time is it?"

Jack glanced at his watch, "Seven forty-five. Can I get you anything?"

"Water, please. And painkillers, if we have any left."

"Sure," Jack replied, and retrieved the items for her. When he returned to the bedside, he handed her a glass of water and two pills. "I should probably change the dressings on your hip."

Irina downed the medication, then nodded. Handing the empty glass to Jack, she turned gingerly onto her uninjured side.

Jack grabbed the medical supplies he had collected earlier and arranged the various bandages and antiseptic tubes on the nightstand. "Can you move to the left a bit?" he asked before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jack pulled down the blankets and gathered the hem of her nightshirt in his hands. He pulled it up gently to expose her hip. His eyes swept up Irina's legs and he couldn't help but admire her curves, and the sweep of her back before it was covered by the fabric. The bandages and wounds on her hip were less appealing, and he steeled himself to concentrate on the task at hand. 

This was her most obvious injury; a long abrasion from where she had landed on the pavement. He cleared his throat, "It's healing nicely so far. This may hurt." As gently as possible, he began peeling off the largest bandage over her hipbone. 

Irina sucked in a breath but managed not to flinch. "How bad is it?" she asked.

"Bad enough," Jack replied as he dabbed antiseptic on the wound and cleaned it. "But not infected. It's going to be damned uncomfortable for some time." For some reason, he didn't like the idea of another scar on her body. 

"Any debris?"

She remained stock still, but Jack saw her tighten her grip on the pillow. "Sorry," he murmured. "I'm double-checking. I did spend a lot of time yesterday teasing it out. In retrospect," he added. "I should have waited for the painkillers to kick in before we tried this."

"It's all right."

Jack didn't think so, and opted to distract her as he continued cleaning her wounds. "Now that we have the abacus, how do you propose we use it?" 

"Make a deal," She replied. "Lure the Covenant out--lure /Sydney/ out. We have to convince Sloane that the abacus is something worth sending her for. Otherwise, the plan is useless."

"His pattern has been predictable. He sends Sydney whenever a Rambaldi item is in play. Should we offer it for sale? Or lure him with a rumor?"

"There are advantages to both methods. There's less risk if we start a rumor. Admittedly, I'm not fond of the idea of giving Sloane anything. Keeping things vague would give us some leeway. On the other hand, I don't know as though he'd be willing to send Sydney for anything but a concrete exchange."

"I think an arranged exchange is our best way of controlling the situation," Jack said. "If Sydney does not make the exchange, then we can simply abort the transaction."

Irina grunted her assent. "I want an open meeting place; no surprises, no ambushes."

"But we need to be sufficiently secluded to speak freely to Sydney," Jack pointed out.

"True. Perhaps a restaurant or park? Somewhere public. It's not as private as I would like, but the crowds would offer us a measure of security. I suspect even Sloane's goons would hesitate to open fire on a room full of people."

"Not if Sydney were there," Jack agreed. He continued working, and noted the gleam in her eye suggestive of deep thought. She didn't flinch. "Why can't we have both? Protective crowd and secure location."

Irina raised an eyebrow. "Both? Are you speculating aloud, or do you have an idea?" She asked curiously.

"An airport, or train station would allow us to meet in public, but have easy access to rapid, anonymous transport."

She nodded. "And if things go bad, we can always cut and run."

"Exactly." Jack applied the last bit of tape to the bandage and pulled her nightshirt down, immediately feeling bereft of the view. "Done."

"Thank--" Irina stopped mid-sentence. Jack was cleaning his hands with a towel, his face turned slightly away from her. "You're wearing glasses," she said suddenly.

Jack eyed her over the rims of his glasses. "For detail work," he shrugged. "That and my gray hair are forced concessions to age." He tilted his head slightly, "But you haven't made any concessions, have you?"

"You don't think so? My arthritic bones say otherwise. I suppose age will catch up to me someday--sooner, rather than later."

"I can't imagine that," Jack replied as he removed his glasses and put them in their case. "Your making concessions of any kind."

"Oh, I do," she replied. "If it's worth it in the end."

That gave him pause, but even as his curiosity was piqued, a warning knell sounded in the back of his mind. He ignored it. "I know that you appreciate long-term strategy," Jack countered, his eyes both warm and intense; questioning.

"Yes." There was just the slightest lilt to her answer. The word wavered between them: a question and an answer.

Feeling suddenly very warm, Jack swallowed, but his eyes never left her face. "Did you have... a destination in mind?"

"Not yet." She said slowly. Irina couldn't quite meet his eyes, and busied herself with adjusting her pillow. After a moment of fighting with it, she gave up.

"Let me," Jack said. He leaned forward, one hand on either side of her head, and moved the pillow back underneath it. "Like that?"

"Thanks." The word was a whisper. She bit her lip.

Jack hovered on the edge, wanting to kiss her more than he could remember wanting anything. Did she want him? She was displaying all the signs -- her face and throat were flushed, eyes heated. But as he studied the subtle play of expressions on her face he wondered: had she ever wanted him? Or was the catch in her breathing, the purse of her lips yet another lie?

/An experiment/, Jack told himself as he bent his head and kissed the corner of her mouth with exquisite deliberation.

Irina's eyes slid shut and her body relaxed into the pillows. She turned her head slightly so that she could kiss him fully. After a moment, she flicked her tongue out and across his lips, testing, waiting.

It took all of his control to not give in totally, to remember himself. He pulled back slightly, teasing her with the hairsbreadth distance between their lips. Waiting.

Irina frowned at the loss of contact. And yet, he was close, hovering. She could feel his breath against her face. Impatiently, she threaded her fingers through his hair, forcing his head down, ending the tease as his mouth met hers again.

Gratified, Jack gave in to the kiss. Blindly, his hands cupped the sides of her face as he passionately tasted her.

Without breaking the kiss, Irina pulled him down on top of her, one hand massaging the back of his neck as the other fumbled with his shirt buttons.

Jack tried to keep his weight off of her, but she pulled him down forcefully, until he was fully on the bed, on top of her. She was pushed back into the bedding, and he winced at the pain he knew she must be feeling. "Irina --" he began.

"I'm fine." Her shirt had bunched up and Jack knew the mattress had to be abrading her back. She shifted uncomfortably but continued trailing kisses down the side of his neck.

"No," Jack said with difficulty. He gasped at the touch of her lips on his collarbone. "Stop..." He tried to pull away, but her hand held him fast, and he didn't want to harm her by wrenching her arm. 

Irina paused. "You don't want this?" She released her hold on him. Pain flashed briefly across her features before her expression went carefully blank.

"Irina," Jack ground out. "I'm sorry... sorry." He disentangled himself and moved her to lie on her side, to reduce the pressure on her back. "God,I'm an ass. Sorry. I'll get you another pain pill."

"Not your fault." Her hands clenched on the blankets.

"The hell it isn't," Jack countered. "Lie still." He gave her another pill and held the glass of water as she drank. Once she swallowed he sat with her, stroking her hair.

Minutes passed, and Irina relaxed. Her breathing settled into a deep, slow rhythm.

"It's all right," she said again, and this time the words were tinged with just a bit of regret.

Jack sighed, his hand still resting on her forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Better." she replied firmly.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her hair under his hands, touching her. It was hopeless, he realized sadly. He may as well try to hold back the night as resist her. Would she lead him to the precipice again, and then leave him to tumble? He didn't doubt it; but he did doubt his ability to save himself.

He mentally shrugged, then cleared his throat. "In that case, what do you think about Paris?"


	20. Chapter 20

Paris, France

 

Julia Thorne stepped out of the taxi and onto the plaza. She tucked a wisp of ash blonde hair behind her ear and tossed the driver a bill with cavalier grace. Her tall boots splashed in a puddle and she pulled up the collar on her sleek raincoat. All the while, she surreptitiously evaluated the scene around her.

The area was nearly deserted, save for a few stragglers hurrying toward a late-night train. Julia skirted the edge of the plaza, neatly avoiding the splashes of lamplight that kept the dark at bay.

Not for the first time, unease snaked through her. She felt exposed, isolated. Instinctively, her hand fluttered over the comm link in her ear.

"Is everyone in position?" She asked. Julia's gaze swept the plaza again, noting the utility van that pulled up next to a sputtering street lamp.

"Affirmative," a squeaky voice said in her ear. "Channel is secure. Spectre?"

"In position," a man's heavily accented voice spoke. "Waiting for Athena once again."

Julia fought the urge to snarl at her partner's tone. Just another transaction, she reminded herself. Nothing more, nothing less. Stay safe long enough for the next one. That was the plan. "Copy that. I'm moving into the square."

She walked casually toward the open train depot, fighting the urge to break into a run. Where was the contact? The square was ominously deserted now. The whole thing felt like a set up.

Julia paused a few feet from the train depot and made a show of fishing in her purse for her ticket.

/Here I am,/ she thought. /What are you waiting for?/

Suddenly, there was a sharp /click!/ and the comm link was filled with soft static. After a moment, the line cleared. Her head still bent over her purse, Julia whispered: "Spectre? This is Athena. Do you copy?"

No answer. Julia's instincts kicked in and she positioned herself with her back against the concrete wall of the station. She didn't need more than one sign that the op had disintegrated -- the only question was whether she should abort or aggressively pursue the set up.

If she were still with the CIA, she'd be more concerned for the well-being of her partner, of their back-up.

But she wasn't with the CIA anymore, and Julia wasn't expected to go out of her way for mercenaries.

Grimly, she flattened herself against the side of the building and began making her way slowly forward. She could see no one ahead of or behind her--no telltale flap of a coat's edge, or the glint of reflected light off of a watch's face.

Whoever her enemy was, he was taking his time. Was it caution that kept him from revealing himself, or was he playing with her? Julia felt her palms itch as she rounded the corner of the train station. Her right hand reached into her coat, her fingers sliding against the cold metal of her gun.

"Sydney."

Julia ... /No, that's not right./ Sydney froze and her heart raced. She hadn't used that name for over a year, it was her name from another life, a brighter future.

But even more startling was the voice -- it was even more familiar than her own. And the tone of her name brought forth an unwanted memory of her father demanding an explanation after she had chased away her third nanny is as many months.

"Dad?" she said, and her voice sounded like a lost little girl's even to her own ears.

The darkness seemed to move, as if making way for him. She gasped.

It /was/ her father. But he seemed thinner, somehow. Drawn in on himself. He wore a dark shirt and slacks, and his pale face was a sharp contrast to the blackness surrounding him.

And his eyes... his expression was as stoic as ever, but his eyes were deep and dark, and spoke of pain and hope.

The spell was broken when he grabbed her wrist, "We need to move. There isn't much time."

"Time for what?" She hissed "Dad, what's going on? What are you doing here?" Sydney went with him, pulled along like a boat in his wake.

She felt a sickening sense of vertigo. Things were changing so fast. How had he found her? What did he know? Unbidden, an image of Francie flashed through her mind--her broken body lying on concrete amidst glass shards. /No, not Francie,/ she thought wildly. /The clone./

She froze. "Stop."

"Sydney," her father repeated with exasperation, but he let go of her. "We're trying to maintain your cover, we have a minimal window of opportunity. I just want to talk to you," he added, his voice dropping low.

Her lips compressed into a thin line. Should she trust him? She had little choice. They couldn't stand out here all night. Finally, Sydney nodded.

Relieved, Jack herded her down the escalator into the train station. He did not grab her arm again, but led her through to a small group of waiting passengers. The roar of the train filled the cylindrical chamber, and it rolled to a stop just as they stepped onto the platform. Leave it to her father to order the subway to run on time, Sydney mused.

The subway doors opened, and Sydney and Jack started forward. To their left, a woman detached herself from a group of late night party goers and fell in behind them. Sydney stiffened. "Dad...?" But her father didn't answer, merely hustled her onto the train. The doors closed just as the woman entered the car.

She turned toward them and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Hello, Sydney." Irina's tone was careful and reserved. Even so, there was a note of expectancy to it.

Sydney gasped, then turned on her father, "Are you insane?"

The train pulled away from the station and they all shifted to maintain balance as it accelerated through the tunnel. Jack appeared flustered for a moment, but quickly recovered. "There's no time for recriminations, Sydney," he said in a clipped voice. "Suffice it to say that your mother and I were originally working together to avenge your death." Even now, his tone wavered on that word. "When we realized that you were alive, we continued to pool resources to find you."

Sydney shook her head. "This is incredible." She turned her attention to her mother, and her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

Irina flinched, but raised her chin. "Only to ensure your safety," she replied.

Sydney scoffed.

"There's no time," Jack insisted. "I sincerely hope that we can all sit down at some point and go over our individual and collective issues. Right now, I'm satisfied with your mother's explanations. And we both consider you to be the priority. We need to know two things: are you all right? And why are you working for Sloane?"

"I'm fine," she said defensively. It was a lie, and they all knew it; but before Sydney could ponder that, she spat out, "And I'm working for the Covenant, not for Sloane."

Jack and Irina shared a troubled glance. "Sydney," her mother said slowly. "Sloane /is/ the Covenant."

The train rattled on for a full minute before Sydney spoke again. She could read the truth on her parents' faces. "If anyone else told me that, I'd ask them to prove it." She rubbed her forehead wearily, "God, what a waste!"

She allowed herself only a moment of despair; then her face grew serious, her jaw set. "I'm going to stop him. I still have my cover -- I can take him down."

"Sydney," Jack said. "You never had a cover."

"Dad, he thinks he reprogrammed me, I can make this work."

"Sloane knows you can't be reprogrammed," Jack said firmly. He felt Irina's gaze on him.

"Don't you see, Sydney?" Her mother broke in. "You haven't fooled him. On the contrary, Sloane has exactly what he wants. You. Programmed or not, he has you running all over the world collecting Rambaldi items, and once he has enough..." Irina shook her head.

"I can still take him down," Sydney reiterated. "That's my mission."

Irina shot Jack an exasperated look. "Not at the expense of your own life!" She snapped.

"We need a failsafe," Jack broke in. "We cannot afford to provide Sloane with any advantages. Right now, he thinks he can trust you because he knows that you are a double agent. But he doesn't know about your mother and I. The solution is to turn triple. Let us be your backup."

"What, you don't work for the CIA anymore?" Sydney's tone was bitter.

"I'm on vacation," Jack deadpanned.

Sydney couldn't help but laugh, a foreign sound to her own ears. "Dad," she reached out and put a hand on his arm.

Suddenly, the lights on the train dimmed, and the car jerked to a stop. Irina frowned. "What the--"

"There isn't another stop for two more miles." Jack said tightly.

The three froze. Hands went into jacket pockets, gripping concealed weapons. Sydney backed up so that she was partially shielded by a set of passenger seats.

The doors swished open, letting in a gust of wind and four men. The first two were dressed casually in jeans and polos,looking for all the world like upper class university students. Their dark jackets were slicked with rain. The second pair of men were dressed in business suits, their highly polished shoes muddied.

The businessmen remained standing while the other two separated and slouched into seats further down the aisle.

Jack thought he saw a worried look pass between the two Suits.

The train rattled, jostling Irina into him. "Jack," she hissed. Her gaze slid to the man nearest to them. Jack followed her look, and saw a smudge of ink on the man's wrist, just below the cuff of his shirt.

No, not a smudge. The Eye of Rambaldi.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sydney tense, and knew she'd recognized the mark as well.

The train shuddered to a stop again, and Irina moved toward the door.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

The voice came from further down the aisle, from one of the jean-clad college boys.

The doors remained closed as Irina turned easily toward the sound. "Ah." A small smile played about her lips. The speaker hadn't made a move, yet there was no mistaking the hard look in his eyes. "I thought so," she continued easily. "What do you want?"

The first Suit, a big, burly man who looked out of place in his fine clothing, said, "To propose a business arrangement. You seek what we seek."

"There are any number of things I want." Her tone hardened. "Be specific."

"You are the Guide. And the Chosen One," he nodded in Sydney's direction. "And we are all the keepers of the Prophet's true vision. The Usurper cannot succeed if we ally against him."

Irina stepped forward, blocking the man's view of Sydney. "Wrong answer. While I appreciate the Guild of Orvieto's assistance--yes, I know who you are--I have no interest in becoming a political pawn."

Sydney casually positioned herself to defend against the closest man. She felt her father do the same on the other side of her mother. She took her cues from them; Irina defiant and Jack watchful.

The man continued speaking. "It is ordained, you will join with us. You more than anyone knows the inevitability of the Prophecy."

She shrugged. "Perhaps. If Rambaldi's vision is true, then nothing can stop it, so what any of us does is irrelevant. The Guild has survived for four hundred years. Changing, adapting. I'm sure such a resilient group can achieve their ends without me."

One of the college students grabbed the railing over his head and hauled himself to his feet. "She isn't going for it." To Irina he said, "How about some incentive?" His reflexes were lightning quick. Sydney saw the flash of light against metal as he brought his gun to bear on her father.

Instinctively, Sydney drew her own weapon, just as Irina did the same.

Jack remained stock-still, His eyes swept across the room and rested on Irina.

Sydney's breath caught in her throat. She balanced on the balls of her feet, waiting, hoping for an opening.

Irina aimed her gun at the leader's head. "Call your dog off." Her voice was quiet. The man in the suit hesitated. "Do it," she repeated.

"Pierre, listen to the lady." To Irina, he said, "We are civilized men. As you've said, the Guild has endured for centuries. We can wait a little longer."

The thug re holstered his weapon as the train pulled into the next station. With a shudder, it halted and the doors swished open. The two men in the aisle exited first, the third following. At last, their leader stepped out onto the pavement. "I'll see you again," he said to Irina, as the doors closed behind him.

The train pulled forward, and Sydney felt all three of them breathe a sigh of relief. Irina was the first to speak, "Sydney, Sweetheart, events are moving quickly and we don't have time to argue or debate." She pulled out a single half-sheet of paper and gave it to her daughter. "Take this -- it contains a list of safe contacts and a cipher known only to us."

Sydney scanned the sheet, "And encrypted message instructions. "Okay," she nodded, finalizing her decision. "I'm in. We're all in. I'll leave a message for you when I return to the Covenant. Can I assume the goal is to find out Sloane's next move and stop him?"

Jack nodded, "As simple as that."

"Got it," Sydney said. The train rolled to a stop, and Sydney found herself suddenly reluctant to leave her family. But she took a deep breath and stepped out the doors. She stopped for a moment and turned, and saw similar expressions on both of her parents' faces -- hope writ over a deep pain. She shrugged slightly and said as the doors closed, "It's good to see you."

Minutes later, she had memorized the information on Irina's note, sacrificing the paper to her lighter as she left the subway station.


	21. Chapter 21

Paris

The doors shut behind Sydney, and through the windows Jack could see her gather herself and turn away from them. He watched her until she disappeared into a stairwell, and the train continued its trek through the city. He shut his eyes tightly, his shoulders slumped.

"She'll be all right. She has to be." Irina said with conviction.

"Yes she will," Jack replied wistfully. "She's remarkable."

"That she is." The train halted and Jack and Irina disembarked. Irina shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and looked out at the dimly lit street. She felt strangely bereft.

They walked in companionable silence for some time, an unspoken agreement to not take the direct route to the hotel. They strolled along the banks of the Seine and Jack broke the silence at last, "It seems... anticlimactic, doesn't it?"

Irina nodded. "I didn't expect her to come with us, and yet..."

"I didn't want her to leave," Jack finished.

"I suppose we could have dragged her off the train. That would have gone over well." Her lips quirked upward.

Jack smiled in spite of himself. "She would have gotten away, even from us. There comes a point where I can't hem her in; though I admit I still try."

"Stubborn." Irina said.

"Are you surprised?" Jack asked.

She chuckled. "Not really." Irina looked around them at the darkened streets. "Cab? Or do you want to walk?" 

Jack stood in the cool breeze, allowing it to clear the cobwebs from his mind. "Walk," he said. He noticed her chill, and removed his light blazer and laid it across her shoulders. 

Irina pulled his jacket around her. "Thank you. I hope you realize, I'm not about to let Sydney go without a tail." She held up a hand when she saw his look. "I can be discreet. It just requires a few phone calls."

"No one can escape your far-reaching gaze," Jack mused. 

"Oh, you give me far too much credit."

"I doubt that. What did you have in mind?"

"A man named Sergei. That's not his real name, of course, but it's the only one he's ever given me." At Jack's look, Irina shrugged. "We all deserve a little anonymity, all things considered. I can have him look after Sydney for a while."

Jack frowned. "Why should we trust him with Sydney's cover?"

"I've worked with him for years, Jack. He's completely loyal. And he knows I'll kill him if he hurts her," she finished darkly.

"That is, somehow, not terribly reassuring," Jack said. He remembered earlier encounters with Irina's employees, and their iron-clad loyalty. "Unfortunately I don't have any other options to offer."

Irina was quiet for a moment. "Sergei is an honorable man, Jack. My life has been in his hands on more than one occasion. I wouldn't trust him with Sydney's life if I believed he was a threat to her."

Jack stopped and stood stock-still. Looking away from her for a moment, he made a decision and met her gaze with a challenging stare. "It's all we have. I have no choice than to accept that."

Irina paused, and met his gaze, unflinching. She dared him to believe her, to hear the truth in what she hadn't said. "You always have a choice, Jack," she said.

For a split-second, his eyes were as hard as flint; and then they grew immeasurably sad. "Tell me, Irina. What do you choose?" he said as he reached out and lightly touched her cheek with his fingertips.

She leaned into his hand, closing her eyes. "Freedom. Home. I want to go home, Jack." She felt unaccountably lost, standing here with him in the middle of a Parisian street.

Without thinking, without allowing himself to think, Jack reached up with his other hand and caressed her face gently before pulling her to him in a tender, questioning kiss.

Irina reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, relaxing into the kiss. She silenced the vicious voice in the back of her head, the one screaming at her that this couldn't last, and just let herself /feel/. Feel the texture of his lips against hers, the softness of his hair. A sense of peace swelled within her.

Home was what it felt like, Jack thought. It would hurt in the end, but right at this moment, he didn't care. The kiss deepened, and like a lightning strike, the latent passion between them sparked. He slid one arm around her waist, pulling her against him. 

Irina leaned into him, clutching at his jacket. Jack's touch pulled at her, and Irina shivered. Dazed, she took a step back. Immediately, she missed his warmth. "Hotel?" 

Jack stared at her, his blood pounding in his ears. He bent his head and captured her mouth in another bruising kiss and they grappled with one another in the street for a long minute before he pulled back again, breathless. He took her hand, their fingers twined together, and they walked briskly towards their hotel.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at their room, breathless and tense. Irina backed Jack up against the door, and nibbled at the exposed skin of his throat. She shoved her hands into his pockets, searching. 

At last, she found what she was looking for, and held up their room key triumphantly.

Jack growled low in his throat, and Irina unlocked the door. They stumbled into the room, kissing and clutching at clothing that was suddenly overwhelmingly restrictive. Jack spared only a moment to slam the door shut and fasten the lock, and then he was backing her onto the bed. 

She let herself fall back before dragging him down on top of her. Irina hooked one leg over his hip and arched upward.

They kissed, a union of frustration and desperate energy. Jack pulled at his own clothing, and then at hers. With each discarded garment, he nipped and teased at her exposed flesh. Irina slid her hands up his chest and growled low in her throat. She could feel the tension in him; the need. Suddenly frustrated, she flipped them over and trailed biting kisses down his torso. 

Jack sat up and held her to him, his hands sought out the smoothness of her flesh and the angle of every curve as his mouth and tongue tasted her. Soon, he pushed her onto her back and they were straining together, their breath ragged and skin blushed with perspiration. He let everything go - his fears and his hopes - and allowed his need for her to take over.

Later, as their breathing slowed, Irina tilted her head so that Jack's lazy kisses could reach her throat. She curled against him protectively, fighting a wave of uneasiness. Her mind was a whirl of what-ifs and what-nows that she couldn't begin to answer. She prayed that Jack wouldn't want to talk. /Not yet,/ she thought desperately. /Let me have this moment for a little longer/. 

They lay entangled for several minutes as he lazily touched her, ran his fingers through her hair. Eventually, Jack's eyes slid closed and his breathing slowed. She felt Jack drift to sleep and was grateful and a bit shamed to realize she wouldn't have to face any questions yet. After a few minutes, she too drifted into slumber.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Light filtered across her face, waking Irina from a deep slumber. She blinked, turning to glance at the small bedside clock radio. She grimaced at the time. /Lazy...decadent.../ She grinned. /Definitely decadent!/

Irina slid out of bed, running her hand down Jack's arm in a caress as she did so. He shifted slightly, but didn't wake. Irina padded over to the closet and pulled out a robe. Shrugging it on, she belted the garment against the early morning chill. Next, she made a beeline for the small coffee pot in the room's kitchenette. Wrinkling her nose at the hotel's selection of coffee, she chose a packet and set the pot to boiling.

Next, she settled herself on the sofa and flipped open her cell phone. While Irina had the highest regard for her daughter's skill in subterfuge, she couldn't quite shake the niggling worry in the back of her mind. Thus, a watchdog. It was time to call Sergei. She dialled a number from memory, and waited for the call to connect.

Jack woke, and immediately sensed that he was alone. He opened his eyes to a beam of light across the rumpled blankets on the empty side of the bed. He frowned. A thousand possibilities entered his mind -- reasons and calculations searching for an answer to the why of last night. What did she really want from him? Home. She had wanted to come home. So she said.

Jack shook off his sense of impending doom and fell back on simple logic. He reached his hand across the mattress and noted that it was still warm. Her scent still lingered on the sheets, on his own skin. He exhaled slowly and sat up with a stretch. A minute later, he heard stirring in the next room. His immediate worry allayed, he stood and drew on a clean pair of boxers.

He smelled fresh coffee as he stepped into the main room, and found Irina on the phone, her back to him.

"No, you are not to interfere unless she needs your assistance."

Irina froze. Jack was behind her. She felt his gaze on the back of her neck, and fought the urge to shiver. "All right. Thank you, Sergei. I owe you." She laughed. "Yes, I know you always collect. I'll be in touch."

With a stab of her finger, Irina cut the connection. Turning to Jack, she said:

"I just spoke with Sergei. He's agreed to infiltrate the Covenant for a short time. Sergei is ideal -- quiet, efficient. And he knows enough about Rambaldi to fool even Sloane. If Sydney needs help, he'll be there."

Jack eyed her for a moment, considering. "He has the means to track Sydney?"

"Of course." Irina replied. She moved toward the kitchen again. "Coffee?"

"Yes, thanks," Jack said quickly. Suddenly at a loss, he ground his teeth and followed her into the kitchen. "How's your back?"

"Healing," she said, in answer to his question. "Which of course means that it itches like hell." She measured half a teaspoon of sugar into her cup of black brew before handing him a gently steaming cup of his own. Irina's gaze met Jack's briefly as she sipped at her drink. "So, what's your next move?" She asked cautiously.

Jack stopped in mid-sip, a chill running up his spine. 'Your', not 'our'. He swallowed his coffee and thought for a moment before responding. "I hadn't given it much thought. The... resolution... of our search was unexpected."

Irina nodded, and took another sip of her coffee to hide a sudden stab of disappointment. "Be careful, Jack. Something is rotten, here. And it involves the CIA."

"I agree," Jack said. "But I will have to return eventually. And I know of several contacts who can also aid Sydney."

Irina's grip tightened on her cup. "You trust these contacts?"

Jack's lip curled in annoyance. "Yes, I would go to the contacts I trust."

Irina frowned. "I'm not questioning your judgement. I'm merely suggesting that you've been out of touch a while. Alliances may have shifted in your absence."

"And while I appreciate your pointing out the obvious," Jack said tersely. "I would also point out that in spite of spectacular misjudgement in my early career, I have spent twenty years in various states of deep cover. I am capable of deciding whom to trust, and under what conditions."

She shrugged, though her tone was acidic. "Forgive me for giving a damn about your welfare."

Jack bristled. "Sydney is the one in danger, not me. You, Irina, have no doubt collected far more vendettas than I. My welfare didn't concern you before. Why now?"

"Doesn't concern me?" Her hand balled into a fist at her side. Irina laughed harshly. "You honestly don't get it, do you?" She pushed past him, roughly. Marching into the bedroom, she jerked open the closet. Choosing a soft cotton pantsuit, she began stripping off her robe.

"You know what? You're right," she continued, stepping into the clothing. "I wasn't concerned when I dragged your ass back to Peru. I wasn't concerned when I took a hit for you in Prague." She turned to face him, and her features were flushed. "And I sure as /hell/ wasn't concerned when..." She cut herself off harshly. "It doesn't matter. Think whatever you want." She jerked her black duffel bag out from under the bed.

"What am I supposed to think?" Jack followed her into the bedroom, addressing the back of her head as she pulled out her bag. "I've learned the hard way never to take anything you say or do at face value."

Irina straightened, the duffel bag hanging from her hand. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He was right. Perhaps she'd been deluding herself, thinking they could get past the pain in their history together.

He was dangerous for her; she knew that now. No one had ever been able to get under her skin as quickly as Jack Bristow. It was a weakness she could not afford, not in this business. She'd been a fool to think they'd had a chance. There was simply too much bad blood between them.

She turned to face him, a sad smile on her lips. "I know," she said. "I can't do this anymore, Jack. You don't trust me, and I don't blame you. Sydney's safe, for the moment. Maybe that's the best we can hope for." She dragged a hand through her hair. Glancing around the room, she said, "I've got to get out of here. The longer we're together, the greater the chance of the CIA finding out you've been working with me. That wouldn't be good for either of us."

She began collecting the few items she needed -- gun and clip, a couple changes of clothing.

Jack bit back a sarcastic remark; there was no point in pursuing the conversation. He felt the familiar mask slide back over his face and found himself nodding once in acknowledgement. He turned away and returned to the kitchenette, where he sat at the table and sipped the now-cold and overly bitter coffee.

Irina finished collecting her things and walked back to the living area. She noticed Jack sitting hunched over his cup of coffee, and paused. She wanted to say something, offer some sort of...what? Condolences? Jack was closed to her, as immovable as a mountain. Unreachable.

Finally, haltingly, she said: "Take care of yourself, Jack." She knew it was wrong the second she said it, knew the feeble words could not possibly bridge the gap between them. And yet, she could see no other alternative.

Fighting the urge to hurl the coffee mug after her, Jack simply said in an overly cheerful voice, "Yeah, you too."

Irina nodded, and her gaze fell on Rambaldi's abacus, sitting on the kitchen table. Irina moved toward it and reached out, her hand shaking. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to break it apart; seize the thing and dash it against the wall. Her fingers closed over the thin rods, brittle as bone.

Irina glanced at Jack again. He was still, staring into his cup of coffee. He would not meet her gaze.

/Damn him, anyway,/ Irina thought savagely. She grabbed the abacus and strode toward the door.

When the door shut behind her, Jack sat still as a statue until long after his coffee went cold.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thanks for reading! The intention had been to make this a trilogy, which ultimately fixed so many of the mistakes Alias made after the third season. However, we've moved on, but still like to think that Jack and Irina are still out there, trying to make things right.


End file.
